Alter Altera Alterum
by Lammybug
Summary: Living in the shadow of the one who came before, could darken the future they had together. Would they let it? AU
1. Exordium

**Disclaimer: **Written for Entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

**A/N: **Here is the AU that I promised would be posted months ago. It has taken me awhile to pull myself away from the Sentio Omnium series to get this first chapter typed out. Inspired by Alfred Hitchcock's film adaptation of Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca. Expect the usual twists and turns, but it borrows heavily from the film adaptation though not quite following everything. Written in response to a request made by **xXHellButterflyXx**.

Alter Altera Alterum is Latin for, "the other one".

Exordium is Latin for, "the beginning (esp. in regards to a speech or in this case, a story)".

_**Alter Altera Alterum**_

_**Chapter One: Exordium**_

The resort boasted a vast number of modern luxuries. There was not one, but _two_ outdoor swimming pools with one being an adults only pool with a lagoon like setting. Outdoors seemed to be a relative term considering the entire area lay amid thick, heavy branches with various overhead canopies to keep on constantly in shade. It looked more like a lazy river through the narrow channels of a rainforest with its hanging vines and twisting waters. Along the edges of the water were strategically located cabanas, erected with views of all passers who floated by. Another bit of luxury in such a poshly luxurious setting. The shade created by the trees was a welcome reprieve from the otherwise blistering desert sun above. Not to mention it, also, gave her eyes a blessed rest from the ever popular metallic materials that were so fashionable for bikinis. The shine reflected off of them was enough to blind someone. The already blinding sun seemed magnified by those tiny pieces that surely, could not _really_ be for the benefit of swimming. So it is here, under the cooler shade of the trees, she was able to relax in the overly gigantic inner tube the attendant had handed out to guests who sought refuge in this manufactured setting. The tube also came with a handy cupholder, where her cocktail currently resided, as she let out another calming breathe and settled back against the air filled rubber keeping her afloat.

This was the sort of place that made her uneasy. The posh surroundings were completely out of her league. She felt awkward in her perfectly acceptable white bikini. While it was a bit more conservative than that of the other women she had seen strolling the grounds here, it was the most skin she had ever exposed in her life. It had been suggested that perhaps white was not a wise choice considering the paleness of her skin, but she had liked the white and she thought the color rather suited her. She believed so up until she had stepped outside of her room and into the outdoor pool for children and adults alike. The reaction of others had been embarrassing. Many of the more scantily clad, metallic wearers had made mocking motions as if shielding their eyes in response to the bright whiteness that was her skin. After about five minutes of feeling as if her skin would sizzle right off from the heat and noticing that she was becoming more of a lobster than human, she had sought refuge in this shaded pool. She was promptly handed a large floatation device that was bigger than herself and almost as heavy, before being asked what she would like to drink by an unnaturally good looking bartender. Yes, it was all very disconcerting.

Finally settled, she can now enjoy this little outing without the often times, overbearing company of her current employer, Mrs. Harper. Not that the lady was awful, she just had a way of making her feel even more foolish and awkward than she already knew she was. As she lays back and tries to relax, she can make out the pulsing sounds of the nearby pool party. It feels blessedly far away from this tranquility around her. Just enough so that she felt close enough to other people and not completely isolated. The air is still a tad oppressively humid but the gentle breeze and the coolness of the water make it all seem comfortable. This short lived serenity is broken when the feeling of another presence nearby registers. She opens her eyes to see whether she is approaching an occupied cabana to explain the feeling. Having just passed one, she does not see anyone within the flimsy fabric of the tent and no one standing among the thick bush on the edges of the water either.

A rustling sound above her, has her lifting her eyes, bringing her attention to the dark figure who stands poised at the edge of tallest trees. Sitting up straighter, she squints her eyes to make out what sort of mischief some drunk individual was concocting. Only it did not seem as if the figure meant any mischief at all. Her deep lavender eyes widen as she realizes that the figure had a far more nefarious intention. Poised dangerously against the edges of a thick branch, it looked like the person meant to fling themselves on to the sharp rocks below. The distance was not too high but the jagged edges of those rocks would be fatal anyway.

"No! Stop!" she cries out, waving her arms about wildly. In her attempt to divert them, she ends up tipping herself over and splashing into the water. Her icy cocktail makes a stain of red against the blue chlorine of the water, making it garish purple color around her. She sputters out water that had rushed into her gaping mouth and pushes her long hair away from her face. Treading water, she looks around desperately for the figure to see where they have gone. Had they jumped anyway?

That could not have been her imagination.

"What deuces are you shouting at?" drawls an annoyed, fluid sounding voice just above her.

Feeling very much like a drowning rat with her hair flattened against her face, she looks up and is faced with the most attractive man she has ever seen. Or he would be, if he were not currently scowling at her so disapprovingly.

The pool is not terribly deep but she finds herself in need of some assistance to keep her head above water. She submerses herself a moment so that her feet can push off from the bottom. Her hands grab hold of the edges of the narrow pool and pulls herself up a bit, water spilling from her in waves. When she meets his eyes again, he is looking at her with his mouth slightly agape. His skin tone, though pale already, looks ashen as it seems to drain of color completely.

"_Who_ are you?" he demands fiercely. "Where did you come from?"

He looks absolutely furious that she's half tempted to dunk back into the water to put some distance between them.

"I'm, I'm sorry," she says, feeling like a fool, yet again. "I thought you, uh... were going to jump."

"And what if I did?" he challenges and he looks even more furious as he continues to look down at her.

"Do you really want your body to be found at the bottom of an artificial lagoon?" she manages through the sudden lump in her throat. "I imagine it would be more preferable to find a more dignified place to kill yourself. If… if, you were going to, that is." She finishes lamely. She is not an elegant speaker on a good day and the way he was looking at her was making her stutter like an idiot. A rambling idiot.

"What are you, a water nymph?" he asks after a moment, not looking as fierce now.

"I, I was rather enjoying a nice float on the water here until I saw you standing there."

"Well then, run along nymph and continue on your lazy float. You'll not lure this one into the water."

As if she were the reason for his brief insanity and she has no idea what he means by insinuating so. But she does not want to stay and find out. He was so terribly handsome that she felt very intimidated.

"My tube seems to have floated away without me," she murmurs to herself. Her tube is no where in sight and not even her spilt glass is anywhere to be seen.

Without another word, he grasps under both of her arms, lifts her completely out of the water and then settles her on her feet in front of him. The move so startles her that she stands there a moment in shock. Too overwhelmed to be taken aback by his liberties on her person. She has her first up close glimpse into dark, jewel toned blue eyes that cut through her as they returned her stare. Those eyes were the stuff of dreams and fantasy, as piercing as they are. The kind that one did not want to escape from but also hinted at danger. They would also see too much and that is when she turns her eyes away.

"Off you go now, Nymph. I am sure you will be able to catch up with it if you hurry," he says, with a shooing motion of his hand. "And next time, don't startle people with your shouting."

He looks so dark and foreboding that she is relieved to be away from him and scampers away wobbly. Recapturing the tube and continuing on her leisurely float no longer held such appeal to her, but she really had no where else to go. One last look at the dark man she has just left behind, she catches him frowning at her so she hurries out of his sight. He reminds her of a tragic hero from a dark tale of romance. Dark, mysterious and brimming with barely suppressed emotions that made his eyes spark with such intensity that it made her skittish. In comparison she felt feeble and weak and _stupid_. She dismisses the rest of her thoughts before they get the better of her and catches up to her tube just around the next bend.

She was looking forward to passing the rest of the afternoon uneventfully. Though, it becomes a trial to get back into that infernal floatation device first. Finally, after a firm grip and lots of wiggling around, she was back on top of it and gliding along as if her interlude had never happened. The gentle motions of the water and much appreciated shade of the trees allow her to almost forget the bizarre encounter.

Almost.


	2. Obvio

Obvio is Latin for, "to encounter; meet".

**Chapter Two: Obvio**

That evening, she escorted Mrs. Harper for a "light" dinner in the main dining hall located in the lobby. Of the many choices the resort was known for, Madam had chosen the most tradition and old fashioned of restaurants to dine in. Madam was a traditionalist at heart and she found she admired that in her. For herself, she was of a like mind, who far preferred the old then the trendy and new. In that way, she and her employer were in harmony. Sadly, that was only one of a small handful of similarities they had. They had been seated indoors when there was such a lovely view of the city due to Madam's "delicate health" and only the choicest table inside would do. For most of the meal, she had almost wished she could sink into the chair. Mrs. Harper, to her own decree, was a food connoisseur and therefore was quite vocal in her opinions on everything. The bread within the basket was not warm. The dish containing her spinach salad had not been nearly cold enough to keep the leaves crisp. The seasoning of her fish was too spicy for her delicate tongue. The vegetables were "abominably soggy" and the dessert's "only saving grace" had been the fresh berries that had only been decorative and not really meant for consumption.

With each passing course, she had wanted to sink deeper and deeper into her chair, hoping that a black hole would swallow her up each time the server had to return something else to the kitchens. When Mrs. Harper noticed her slouch, she had snapped at her to straighten up and relayed to her the importance of good posture. When each dish was returned with Mrs. Harper's strict specifications, she found herself eying it, wondering whether it was really suitable to be eaten now after so much of a fuss. It made her feel even worse that the wait staff had been nothing but polite and accommodating in response to the horrible manner in which Mrs. Harper 'humbly critiqued' the meal.

When she had tried to give the Maitre di' an apologetic smile, Madam had berated her about encouraging such unacceptable cooking from the chef. Still, she could not be rude to their efforts to please and she had given a murmured compliment about how the food had really tasted delicious. Then was treated to a disapproved clucking of a tongue. Then given a refresher course on why _she_ would not be able to tell the difference between fine dining and simple fare. Her low birth heritage and orphan status was always brought up, even indirectly, at every possible moment.

Finally, they had retired from the dining hall and were situated in one of the plush couches located in the elegant living room next door. It afforded a prime view of those coming and going from the lobby, which Madam wanted to peruse in order to see if there were any known personalities staying here as well. As her keen eye, roamed hungrily over each person that passed, she let herself sit back and try to relax a bit. All while half listening while Madam despaired at the bad choice of coming to such an exclusive resort during the off season.

"The tea is cold!" hisses Mrs. Harper, almost spitting out the sip that had just entered her mouth, setting her cup upon the saucer with a loud clink. "Fetch that stupid waiter for another pot."

Quick to oblige, she raises her hand to gain the waiter's attention when Mrs. Harper lets out a gleeful cry.

"Why! That's the crown Prince!"

_The Prince?_ She thought, feeling the color drain from her face as a small bit of excitement and anxiety filled her. She really had no desire to meet royalty, let alone the Prince!

Then the color rushed right back into her cheeks when she looked up to get a look at the Prince.

"Your Highness!" Mrs. Harper all but screeched in her excitement. She raises herself with all the flourish that she boasted of in greeting, her thick body not quite making it a convincing picture, as the Prince approached the couch in which they were reclining.

She manages to lock her knees in order to stand as he got close enough for politeness sake.

The Prince. The Prince! There he was again. Just as dark and dangerous as he had been earlier, only he seemed even more of each with his excellently tailored dinner jacket and slacks. He wore no neck garment, which made him appear more roguish and looking just as rebellious as his reputation had claimed him to be. His eyes were watching her and she knew he was recalling their earlier interlude. The floor was cruel that it could not open to swallow her before he relayed to Madam what had happened this afternoon. Though he does nothing more than flicker his eyes towards Madam in acknowledgment before settling them back on her.

"His Highness will be joining us," Mrs. Harper leans in towards her to hiss. "Go get ask idiot for another cup as well."

"I am afraid I must contradict you," the Prince says smoothly as he comes closer to settle down easily at a chair across from them. "You will both be having tea with me." As soon as he is comfortably situated, a waiter comes to his side straight away and he orders for their party in self assured tones.

"I was just telling this young thing here how there weren't any respectable faces and here you are!" gushes Mrs. Harper immediately. Her chubby face is positively gleaning with pride at such a compliment of having the Prince sit with them so familiarly.

As for the Prince, he merely sits there with a cordial expression on his face, though he does not fully smile.

"And how do you like it here?" he asks.

She had been avoiding eye contact with him so it takes her a moment to realize he had not been asking Mrs. Harper, but herself until she feels an unpleasant elbow in her rib.

"Oh!" she stammers uneasily at having the attention trained on her and tries to crouch further into the plush couch. "Well... it all seems a bit superficial," she makes to mumble out awkwardly.

"She's spoiled, that's why, your Highness," chides Mrs. Harper loudly. "Most girls would give their eyes to see a place so fine as this."

"Wouldn't that rather defeat the purpose?" the Prince asks with an amused smirk.

The false chuckle that Mrs. Harper lets out is badly transparent.

"Are you playing the tables while you're here?" Madam carries on, making a show of bringing out her shiny, silver cigarette case and taking out one.

From the stiffness of Madam's shoulders, she knows that she will be getting an earful later.

"I'm afraid I don't gamble anymore," the Prince shrugs, but obliges Mrs. Harper by lighting her cigarette for her.

Try as she might, she couldn't resist looking him over as he sits there. She wonders what it must be like to be him. Someone who appeared to be instantly recognizable and constantly talked of. He looked so collected and well put together. The cut of his jacket was superb, bringing out the broadness of his shoulders and slim waist. His shoes were even the perfect kind of shine. Not too shiny and not too dull. One leg is thrown so casually over the other to convey a distinguish sense of ease. He made such a confident picture, so comfortable in his skin, that she begins her awkward fidgeting again. He looked so different and yet the same than how he had looked earlier in the afternoon. She cannot believe she had not recognized him. Perhaps it had been because he had caught her so off guard with his unusual behavior. Looking at him now, there was no question as to who he was.

What a mess she has made of things... again. What he must think of her, being so bold as to encroach on so private a moment of his.

"I am sure if you tried, the tables will turn out quite fun," Mrs. Harper continues on. She snootily inhales a drag and releases it slowly through her nose. The gestures looks almost comical in it's played up arrogance in comparison to the elegant dignity of the man sitting with them.

"I'm afraid that sort of indulgence failed to amuse me long ago," he replies and he does not look the least bit sorry for it. It begged to question why he would seek to come here on an off peak season where gambling was the main attraction. "What about you? Do you play?"

She is just opening her mouth to answer in the negative when Mrs. Harper cut off any chance of her getting her reply out.

"She would not know a thing about those sorts of things, being in her position as she is," comments Mrs. Harper indifferently. "Oh to be young again!" She laments dramatically as she inhales another drag. "There are so many things to amuse you. I doubt you remember, but the last time I saw you, you were with your charming wife. I'm sure you don't remember an old crow like me though." Mrs. Harper gave him what she hoped was not intended to be flirtatious before barreling on before he can answer. "Will you be staying here long?"

"I haven't exactly decided yet," he answers indifferently, but there is a shadow in his eyes now that had not been there a moment before.

Just her imagination, she thinks and lowers her face to look at the cup in her hands.

When Mrs. Harper does not immediately try to convince him to stay on longer, she looks up again to see that it is because he's watching her.

"Has your valet unpacked for you?" Mrs. Harper finally blurts out. "It would be so nice to spend time with such great company as yourself."

"I'm afraid I have no valet," he points out, ignoring her invitation.

"No man servant?" Mrs. Harper asks, looking scandalized that he would travel alone.

"No," he says simply. "Perhaps you would care to do it for me."

Mrs. Harper misses the quirk in his lips because she flushes.

"Well, I hardly think it's fitting...," Madam says awkwardly before snapping her beady eyes to her. "Maybe _you _can be of help to the Prince. You're a capable _child _in many ways."

"Quite unnecessary," the Prince says quickly. "I prefer the motto, 'He who travels fastest, travels alone.' Or have you not heard of it. Excuse me."

Without another word he's up and gone with a quick bowing gesture as quickly as he had appeared. His comment, which had been a jab at Madam, went completely over the older woman's head.

"Did you suppose he thought that was funny?" Madam asks with a disappointed frown. "What a strange man. Don't forget the key!" She demands before rising to her feet without waiting for her.

Jumping at the snippy tone of her employer, she fumbles to put down her cup before scrambling to her own feet in order to follow behind.

"I suppose I can't blame him for being so eccentric," Mrs. Harper comments flippantly, slowly leading the way to the elevators that would lead them back to their rooms. "He's probably not over his wife's death."

That left food for thought. Had that been why he had looked so distraught and angry by the pool?

"By the way, my dear," Mrs. Harper says as they wait for the lift. "I hope you don't take this like I am being unkind, but you were just a little too forward with the Prince just now. Your reply embarrassed me and I'm sure it did him too."

Had that been rude? The mention makes her chew her bottom lip nervously. She had not meant to make him uncomfortable.

"Oh don't sulk!" snaps Madam, just when the doors to the lift open to admit them. "Maybe he didn't even notice. As withdrawn as he has become. Poor man. They say he simply _adored_ her."


	3. Nasco

A/N: I want to mention, again, that this is an AU and therefore does not follow any available details about Versus directly.

Nasco is Latin for, "to become acquainted with; get to know".

_**Chapter Three: Nasco**_

Two days later, found her heading down to an early breakfast without the company of Mrs. Harper. It was such a relief to be away from the sometimes overbearing woman, especially during the course of a meal. Not that she was all terrible. It was her employer's extraordinary kindness in having her that she was able to have a job in the first place. The relief is mostly from her preference to be alone rather than anything else. She did not much care for the things that outraged Mrs. Harper and the ladies of her position. She, herself, was not glamorous nor was she drawn to trends and idle celebrity gossip. Those things did not concern her when she was not anyone special herself. But she does occasionally enjoy watching people from an invisible corner to observe how they went about their days. It was one of her favorite past times to try and imagine how they might live and who they might know. All of which provided her with plenty of stories for her sketching.

It was quite early in the morning, but the outside sun was already shining gorgeously overhead. So, with her sketchbook in her arms, she is rushing to get a quick bite in before catching an hour of quiet sketching. Her plans are to find a nice scenic angle to work on before having to report back to Mrs. Harper. A shy delighted smile crosses her face as she makes her way to the host's booth to get a table to officially start her day.

Given the late night parties hosted by the resort, many of the guests were still asleep in their rooms. Perfect for her since it meant that the breakfast hall would be mostly, if not entirely, empty. There would be no chance for awkwardness. She greets the host and follows behind him to a table located off to the side, so she could avoid the eyes of any other early diners. She is no more thankful for this a moment later when, as she was sitting down, her large sketchbook tips over the centerpiece, spilling water and flowers all over her table in a wet mess.

"Oh dear!" she cries, mortified beyond belief to have caused such a mess. "How clumsy of me! I really, I am so sorry."

The maitre 'di and water bustle to change the clothe quickly with a calm reassurance that everything was all right.

"There's no need for all that," comes the confident voice she has been dreading as much as she has been wishing to hear these last two days.

When she looks up, he is standing right beside the chair she is currently sitting in.

"The lady will have breakfast with me," he declares. Not the least bit disgusted at her clumsiness.

A reaction of which she cannot help but compare with Mrs. Harper's continual disapproval when she would trip over nothing when she walked sometimes. Though, the Prince seemed too polite to show whatever disgust he may feel towards her. A kindness too, that she was of some note to extend such a thing.

"No, that's very kind of you," she protests quickly. "But I'll be all right as soon as they change the clothe."

"I should have asked you to dine with me anyway," he says, taking hold of her arm gently and nudging her towards his table.

How he had seen her around the bend, when she had not seen him at all was uncanny. His table afforded him absolute privacy to where nobody even saw that there was a table here.

It shouldn't have thrilled her as much as it did for him to take such charge of the situation for her, but it did. Somehow his brisk dismissal of her little accident made her feel more comfortable and his resolute way of having her eat with him did too. Why he would risk dining with such a klutz made her feel uncharacteristically at ease rather than make her even more nervous. He was just so sure of things and himself that she felt more settled. A purely feminine sense of glee seizes her as he holds out a chair chivalrously for her to sit beside him at the small square table in a position where even if one could glance their way, they would only see him and not her. A very observant consideration on his part. How he seemed to know that she would be tense if he had positioned her in view instead was very attentive in a way that nobody was ever attentive to her. All so graciously and naturally, as if they had known each other longer than they did, making her feel comfortable for the first time in a very long time.

Within a blink of an eye, the wait staff wastes no time in setting a place for her before she even has a chance to settle into her chair. If they thought it odd that the Prince should have her dine with him, they did not let it show in their faces. All they did was smile cordially as they went about their work as fast as possible and bid them to enjoy their breakfast.

"What will you have?" he asks, with a small smile at her. Not a trace of the fierce intensity that she had seen on his face that first time. It was at once inviting and open and she feels warmth because of it.

"This is so generous of you," she says, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed with just the presence of him and all this… inconvenience. For it had to be an inconvenience on his part. She was not accustomed to having someone like him pay any attention to someone like her and being so considerate at that. Her body turned into a bundle of noodled nerves from his focused gaze. Too much longer in her company and he would think she was an idiot. "But I'm not very hungry."

"Don't be silly," he chides, taking hold of his napkin and laying it casually back onto his lap. "You need to eat something."

"What would you care to have, Ma'am?" asks the waiter, standing just above her expectantly.

"Oh um, then maybe some eggs, please," she answers, trying not to fidget under the Prince's continued stare. She fidgets anyway. "Some toast as well, please."

"Very good," the waiter responds before walking away.

"I'm sorry about the other day," he whispers when they are alone. "I was needlessly mean to you."

"There is no reason to apologize," she reassures him quickly. "You merely wanted to be alone. I was the one intruding."

There is a moment of pause but he speaks again before it can become awkward.

"So where is your friend?" the Prince asks pleasantly.

"She seems to have gotten a cold," she answers, looking down at the table instead of into his eyes.

"How unfortunate," he says diplomatically, but he doesn't seem the least bit sorry for it.

The remark almost makes her smile.

"Is Mrs. Harper a friend or a relation?"

"Neither actually," she says shyly. "She's my employer."

"Are you a nurse or something?"

"No, I'm what you call a paid companion," she answers, trying her level best to look up and converse like a normal person would, but fails miserably when she can only look as far as her water glass. He was so just so, _overwhelming_, even when he smiled. Maybe, especially when he smiled. She could feel his presence and his stare like a physical touch.

"I didn't know companionship could be bought," he muses. "Not that kind, anyway."

"Well, I'm not gifted and I do have to earn a living somehow," she explains quietly.

"What about your family?"

"I have none," she replies softly. "My mother died before I can remember and my father not long ago."

"Did you get along with your father?" he asks, compassionately.

"We got along very well," she says, a smile forming on her lips as she thinks of the man that had been her father. "He was a little strange to some but we got on so well together. We were the world to each other."

"Must have been nice to feel that way about someone," he comments. It sounds more to himself than to her. "What did he do for a living?"

"He…," she hesitates, unsure of how to answer that. "He was a bit of an artist."

"What kind of an artist was he? Was he a good one?"

"He painted trees," she blurts out. "Well, not plural. He only painted one tree."

"So he painted the same tree over and over again?" he asks with a small chuckle.

She chuckles with him because it was always something that she had thought funny too, if not a little embarrassing too. "He believed that once you found that perfect something, you should stick to it. Do you think that's really crazy?"

"Not really," he answers, looking not the least bit put off by the idea at all. "I can actually agree with that."

"You can?" she asks in surprise.

"Yes," he answers easily. "Perfection is hard to come by. If you are fortunate enough to have found it, there's no reason to look for another."

The statement strikes her like a blow as the words wrap around her mind. He looks distant, upset at speaking the words. His voice sounds a little resentful too, even though his words are so full of understanding. His eyes blur to red and it looks as if he's angry, before he pulls himself together and manages to offer her a smile with eyes of blue once more. The change is so quick that she's in awe at how versatile and deep he was. Very broody. A little dangerous with many, many secrets hidden inside him.

_He's probably not over his wife's death._

Of course he would be resentful then. He had, had perfection in his wife and he had lost her. She envied his late wife, the love that he seemed to still have for her. No matter that she was dead. What a great Lady she must have been to have the Prince long for her still.

"What's that you have there?" he asks suddenly.

Her food arrives then and she watches the steam rise a moment before looking to what he was referring to.

"Oh, um…," she says, very tempted to try hiding her sketchbook now that it has drawn his attention. "Since I have the morning free, I was going to do some sketching."

"Where were you planning on doing your sketching?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet," she answers plainly, pouring some cream into her coffee. Careful, this time, not to make another mess of things.

"I know a great place I could take you for some sketching," he says with another smile.

"Oh no! I wasn't…I wasn't telling you so that you'd offer," she cries, appalled that she may have made him feel obligated in giving the invitation.

"I didn't think that you were and I wouldn't have if you _had_ been," he replies dismissively. "But I _am_ offering to take you just the same."


	4. Otium

Otium is Latin for, "leisure, ease, peace, repose".

_**Chapter Four: Otium**_

How did one respond to something like that? From one such as he, besides?

"But I'm… not so sure…," she still hesitates, torn between elation and apprehension.

"Let's hurry up and finish eating. Then we can be off," he urges her, picking up his fork to continue eating before offering her a gentle smile. He looks so nonchalant about it that she feels like a fool for making such a spectacle of it and why would it even be something of a spectacle to him anyway?

"I, really… I'm not hungry anymore," she states, which is partly true. She is so nervous about being in his company for an outing for a few hours. The two of them alone, on a beautiful drive. Her with the Prince. The thought was absolutely thrilling and terrifying. It might have even been considered romantic were it not so far fetched.

"Of course you are," he says, tapping at her fork so that it is closer to her hand. "Don't be silly. Now, eat up like a good little girl."

She is sure she had the goofiest expression on her face as she readily obeys him by slowly scooping up a forkful of eggs and putting it into her mouth. All the while her eyes never seem able to leave him, even when he continues as if they dined together every day.

It surprises her how easy it is to speak to him between bite fulls of their breakfast. Her tongue, who usually had such a hard time expressing things the way she really wanted to say them, was working without much effort. With him, she found herself saying things that she never even thought to share with anyone else. As graceful and learned as a man of his position was, he looks at her with such keen interest in his eyes that she finds herself speaking for the sole purpose of holding onto it. Men, did not pay attention to her. Most especially men like him. Men that were handsome, intelligent, powerful and wealthy. A man of position and privilege. Their differences in social standing was so apparent at first glance.

Their garments, for example. His were expertly tailored and made of the most costly of materials. Her, well, hers were plain and mostly formless. Most of them were not even in her right size. Prudence had driven her to buy her clothes a tad larger than she was in order to allow any growth as she got older. She did not plan to buy a new wardrobe for quite some time. All that she had cared about was that they were decent and acceptable. It was hardly expected that someone like her be fashionable. She doubts Mrs. Harper would have hired her if she had been.

Breakfast is soon over after so friendly a conversation as they had, had that it saddens her for it to be over so quickly. He leads her steadily to a flashy convertible, already waiting for him as they step out of the lobby and onto the valet. His car would have been considered more extravagant had they not been staying in such an illustrious resort, but still, it is quite impressive. There were many prestigious cars parked in the valet that reeked of money and his is surprisingly mild in comparison. The Prince's convertible was quite fine, black and sleek, not overbearing but simply tasteful. It looked more suited to his personality than his station. Which was more impressive than the car itself.

The Prince brushed aside the valet to open the passenger door for her, himself and she found herself blushing furiously at the courtesy. With a small bow of thanks, she slides into the plush leather upholstery and is soon surrounded with the exotic scents of the car. It was a man's car through and through and represented the man who drove it absolutely. There were no showy ornaments nor any lingering personal items but the design, fit and color all suited him. She scrambles a little to get her legs inside the vehicle as he shuts the door gently and casually walks to the driver's side. Her eyes cannot help but to watch him as he walks so leisurely and confidently. His posture straight and his movements fluid. She had never seen a man walk so self assuredly. To think that _he_ wanted to spend time with _her_?

"First time in an Aston?" he asks, looking at her carefully as she struggles to put on her seat belt.

"First time in any sports car," she answers, squirming in her form fitting seat.

"You are sure?" he asks curiously.

"I think I would remember," she manages to mumble lightly, smiling despite the oddness of the question.

He watches her closely as her hands fumble with the buckle before getting herself in order properly and smoothing out her flowy skirt.

"Would you prefer the top up or down?" he asks. His tone is polite but his look strangely intent.

"Could we put it down?" she asks eagerly. "I have always wanted to know what it was like to feel the wind in my hair while going at fast speeds."

He inclines his head thoughtfully at her enthusiasm. "Not worried about your hair?"

Should she be? Did proper ladies not drive that way?

"There is always a brush," she stammers uncertainly. "If you wish…"

"I like the top down just fine," he replies, turning the ignition and lowering the roof all in the same motion. "My hair can't get anymore wild than it already is."

She manages a light chuckle at his little joke while he reeves up the engine and speeds them off to destinations unknown. This was completely out of character for her. She has never been an impulsive sort to accept rides from relative strangers. She has never been alone with a man either. This adventurous side of her is exhilarating in it's nervous anxiety. She did not know the Prince at all, and she takes comfort that she it was anyone important. Being an orphan, who would care about her going out with him like this? Mrs. Harper, the epitome of decorum, had even volunteered her to be his valet and unpack his bags for him afterall. In any case, she had no reason to believe the Prince had any ill intentions towards her anyway. He was kind and charitable to be taking her out for this drive. She is sure that he only wishes to apologize for his brisk behavior beside the pool that day. In fact, not in any way did he seem the least bit interested in her as a woman. How could he be? Certainly there were women far more beautiful and more polished than she available to him, that he did not need to bother with someone like _her_ that way. His stare, whenever he did stare at her, was not suggestive of that either. There was always a quiet intensity in his eyes, but she never got the sense that he had nefarious plans of seduction in mind. He just seemed, curious, for lack of a better term.

The spot he takes her to is breathe taking in it's natural beauty. It reminds her of mystical tales of old. Of haunted castles perched on shadowy cliffs. Angry waves smashing against the hillside, ready to be devour any would be swimmer into it's dark murky depths. The difference is that there is no mist here to give that mystique and the sun is too hot to give one those delightful shivers. Instead it was very charming. A perfect setting for one who simply wanted to be away from the crowds and enjoy what nature has created. She finds a comfortable bench to sit upon under an ivy covered gazebo. The Prince stands in front of her, staring distantly into the violent waters. He looks so lost in thought and miles away from her while she sketches away. They do not speak and it's not awkward, but comfortable and serene. Conversation was not needed. There was no need for words when the moment was perfect in its silence.

Here, it seems as if time did not exist. It did not seem important enough _to_ exist. So she is not aware of how much time passes besides the lines of her drawing. Through it all, she watches him unabashedly as his mind is far off to places she would never know. His face forms many indecipherable emotions, wherever he is in his mind, making him out of place in so cheerful a setting. He belonged to the cliffs of mystery. The jewel toned vibrancy of his eyes vary with each passing thought and she knew that she could watch him for the rest of her life and never cease to be fascinated by him. Even more so, he reminded her of a tragic knight of long ago. The one who had lost the love of his life to tragedy and exists in the memory what they had, had.

"With the amount of time you've spent on that one sketch, I am expecting a great piece of work," he comments, breaking the her imaginings and turning to offer her a warm smile.

"No! Nothing near that at all," she cries, suddenly very embarrassed that he should think such a thing.

"May I see it now?" he asks, pushing away from the railing to stand over her.

"Oh no! You musn't!" she squeaks, trying to cover her work by pressing the page against her chest protectively. Nobody ever looked at her work. "It's the perspective. I never can get it right."

"Don't smudge it out," he chides with a chuckle. When he persists in trying to get a look, she has no choice but to relent. She could not risk angering him after his kindness in bringing her.

He is to be disappointed. She knows this and feelings a blush of mortification as he looks over it quietly. She is not a good hand at sketching. Not at all. This is not false modesty either. This is absolute truth. She was not talented at all. Her work is not even mediocre. It is little better than a child's stick figure. That and she had not been drawing the scenery at all, but _him_. She has also, inadvertently, drawn his nose crooked without even realizing it until now too. Sketching was her therapy, but it did not mean that she was any good at it.

"Oh my," he says, managing not to crack a smile but it is obvious that he wants to. "Does my nose really have that twist in the middle?"

He says this so uncritically. His tone so amused and so intrigued, that it does not sound like an insult to her lack of skills. It compels her to try and reassure him that his nose is really perfect.

"You're a very difficult subject to sketch," she explains in a rush. "Your expression is changing all the time."

He smiles so warmly at her that she can feel the warmth of it blossom in her chest.

"Well, I wouldn't waste paper on something like me," he says. The small uplift of his lips does not leave his face as he lightly suggests this. There is not even a hint of offense at her appalling attempt at trying to capture him with her untalented hand. Then he walks back to the railing and gestures with a nod of his head. "I would stick to the view. It is much more worth your while to capture."

He gives her another one of those little quirk of his lips that is almost a full smile before he gains his position of leaning against the railing once more.

"Have you seen the coast line back home?" he asks, gazing back at her again.

Eagerly, she sets down her things and moves to stand by him.

"Oh yes!" she replies excitedly. "I was at a little seaside village with my father on holiday once. There was a small souvenir shop there that had postcards and I saw this one with a beautiful estate on the beach. I asked who's house it was and the lady said, 'That's Manderley'. I felt ashamed for not knowing."

She _should_ have known. Manderley was the personal estate of the royal family and where the Prince took up residence when he was not in town.

"Manderley is beautiful," he says quietly. "But it's just a house. A place where I grew up." His expression darkens with each word he says and turns to stare absently at the water again. "Now I do not think I shall ever see it again."

He has such a stormy expression on his face that she finds herself rambling in order to try and lighten the mood again.

"We are fortunate to be missing the cold weather back home, aren't we?"

Which is silly to say. The chilly winter was the reason Mrs. Harper had chosen this place of endless summer. Where it was always warm and sunny. No doubt the Prince had been of the same mind when he had come here as well.

He nods at her question distractedly, his mind still in that gloomy place.

"The water here is so warm compared to back home, I could swim in it all day," she continues on. "But there is a dangerous undertow. They say a man drowned here last year. I've never had a fear of drowning, have you?"

He looks as if he is just about to burst with his agitation and shoves away from the railing, stalking off a few steps away. Keeping his back to her, she watches how much tension stiffens his broad shoulders and bites her lip nervously.

"Come. I'll take you back to the hotel," he says in a gentle voice, though is body is anything but gentle looking.

His shoulders are so rigid with anger and sadness while her own lose all strength and sag. She has no idea what had angered him so and she should apologize. Only, she does not have the nerve when his face remains in such a tight scowl all the way back to the hotel. When he opens the passenger door for her to exit, he sees her to the lobby doors before offering her an absently uttered farewell and he is off on his own way. The brisk manner in which he strolls away causes people to instinctively move out of his path.

She feels guilty for putting him in such a state. It must be her fault for making him so troubled when he had been so polite and warm. So with hunched shoulders, burdened with anxious guilt, she takes the lifts up to Mrs. Harper's room to see how the lady was fairing with her cold. When she opens the door, she is just in time to hear the tail end of Mrs. Harper's conversation with the hotel nurse.

"Oh I know the Princess Caelum very well. I knew his wife too. She was the beautiful Rebecca Hildreth, you know." Mrs. Harper exclaims. "She drowned last year, poor dear, off the coast of Manderley. He never talks about it, but he's a broken man! Oh there you are!" Mrs. Harper cries almost accusingly. "Hurry up, I want to play a few games of cards."

_Drowned._

How absolutely awful.

Her guilt for saying such a senseless thing when she should have known better, magnifies. That night she has nightmares of foggy seashores and violent waves with Mrs. Harper's words providing the narration.

_She was the beautiful Rebecca Hildreth, you know._

_They say he simply adored her._

_He's probably not over his wife's death._

_She was the _beautiful _Rebecca Hildreth, you know._

_But he's a broken man!_

* * *

><p>End Note: I've kept the original maiden name of Rebecca in the fic and also the name of the estate for which Rebecca (the book) takes place later on in the story.<p> 


	5. Compello

Compello is Latin for, "to drive together; compel; collect".

_**Compello**_

The next morning she found herself pouring over the various activities within the resort's folder, located on the desk inside her room. Her embarrassment and remorse from the day before has her too ashamed to try sketching again today nor to attempt swimming either. She is determined to find something else that she _did_ have a natural talent for since sketching was not one of them. She was also, only mediocre at swimming as well. The resort offered archery and though it did make a very romantic and daring mental picture, she was too realistic to think that she would have any success in it at all. All too aware of her clumsy nature, she might give herself an impromptu skin graphing by misusing the bowstring somehow. Or she might accidentally shoot all but the target. So, she had quickly scraped that idea and continued browsing along the long list of things to choose from. Knitting seemed more suited to her as it was a singular activity and there was no harm to be done with a dull needle, but she already knew how to do it and it… just did not seem exciting enough. She hardly thought someone like the Prince would find that impressive because it certainly was not impressive to her. There was lawn bowling, but that did not seem athletic enough to be exciting either. The only thing remotely doable given her…limitations was tennis.

So, with a racket in hand and a make shift outfit, practical for the sport of course, donned she goes over to check on Mrs. Harper before leaving on her adventure. The lady was in bed with an ornate silver looking glass that she had heard the entire story about before. How it was an heirloom to the ladyship's family and passed down from daughter to daughter. A very lovely story and it made her wish that she had inherited something so beautiful from her own mother. Mrs. Harper was currently gazing at her own reflection intensely, with tweezers on hand to spy any hairs that needed to be plucked. The hired nurse was bustling about the room, looking more like a personal maid than a medical care professional.

"Where are you off to?" calls out Mrs. Harper when she steps into the room, though she does not bother to actually look up at her.

"I thought I might take some tennis lessons," she answers.

"Tennis!" scoffs the older lady, with a haughty roll of her eyes. "I suppose you've had a look at the pro and he's desperately handsome."

Which is a grossly inaccurate assumption, but she does not bother to deny it. Not that Mrs. Harper gives her an opportunity to even try, before she is speaking again.

"Oh very well. Go and make the most of it," Mrs. Harpers says dismissing her with a wave of her hand and takes up her tweezers again.

"Oh thank you!" she says, feeling a renewed giddiness at being allowed this free time. Much like a child that has been told they are allowed to play. She offers her employer a bright smile in thanks, which the lady waves away again as she would a fly and she is off on her merry way.

Tennis hours were more suited to those guests that had stayed up for most of the night gambling and enjoying the _very_ late night parties. Most often, to the subsequence _after_ parties as well. It is just as those very ones are headed to lunch, that she makes her way over to the courts to sign up. It was a perfect time to pick any of the tennis courts before they became crowded and it meant less eyes to see her struggling to learn the sport. As she gets closer though, she begins to wonder whether she should have made an appointment. She did not have a partner and given her novice status, doubted anyone would want to pair off with her. That is also assuming, that the pro even had a slot available for her today.

Oh dear. Perhaps she had better not.

"Off duty?" asks a masculine voice at her shoulder, startling her from her thoughts.

"Oh! Hello," she says, playing nervously at the strings of her racket when she takes in the sight of him. "Mrs. Harper's cold has turned into the flu so she has a full trained nurse to stay with her."

"I feel sorry for the nurse," the Prince remarks with a quirk at the corner of his lips.

He looks fresh from a shower, but he looks much too alert to have just woken up from a night of revelry. No, it looks as if he has showered following some morning exercise. An early riser, suggesting that their meeting so early at breakfast yesterday had not been a fluke. He really must have lost interest in the nightlife, as he had mentioned to Mrs. Harper that first night. The freshly showered look suits him tremendously too. The musky, rich scent of his newly applied cologne and his hair is still a tad moist, making it evident that mornings in general, suited him. His spikes are more… alive somehow because of it.

"Keen on tennis?" he asks, eying her racket like he did not approve of it in her hand.

"Not particularly," she says truthfully, looking down at it uncertainly.

"Good, then we shall go for a drive instead," he says with a wonderful mix of suggestion and command in his tone. He makes the decision for her before she can utter a protest, by gently taking hold of the racket and hiding it behind the nearest bush. After gifting her with a conspiring smile, he places his hand at the small of her back and guides her towards the valet. It is not in her at all protest after seeing that smile.

The drive he takes her on that afternoon is lovely in its simplicity. They do not speak much but not for lack of things to say. The scenery and the moment did not need an exchange of words. Simply something to be enjoyed in silence. Occasionally, she would catch sight of something that fancies her eye and he would offer what he knew about it. His tone never sounding insolent or arrogant. He merely shared what he had either heard or read of and she appreciated his courtesy in sharing his knowledge. There were many things lacking in her own education whereas his would undoubtedly have been more extensive. Though he could not be much older than herself, there is a look about him that suggests that he has lived and experienced much, even in so short a life span. His voice along with the sensation of being in that powerful vehicle, expertly driven by a man who could drive it well. The openness of the road before them. The wind blowing against her face and through her hair. The small bumps in the cement and the texture of the asphalt. The sun warming her skin and the powerful presence at her side, did not allow for much more than quiet appreciation. She has always preferred this to idle chit chat.

The Prince has a presence about him that spoke more of the himself as a man than his bearing ever could. He was someone one did not ever over look. Not because he made a display of himself. It was the aura that he exhumed so effortlessly. From the confident gaunt of his walk to the stylish clothes that flattered him so well to the cultured notes of his voice. One did not forget or ignore someone like him. It was simply impossible to do so. Yet, he had asked for _her_ company. He had asked for her to sit beside him on this lovely drive through the lone stretch of curved highway and she was honored.

Too soon the drive is over and they are winding through the familiar driveway to the valet of the resort. After the Prince opens the door for her, he offers her his hand to lift her out and walks her towards the bush where he had hidden her racket earlier. Then he walks her gallantly towards the lifts, kisses her hand lightly and watches her enter the cabin. He offers her a small parting smile when the doors close between them. She fairly floats in a dreamy haze as she makes her way back to her and Mrs. Harper's rooms. The scene she is greeted with is exactly the same as when she had left it a couple hours before.

Mrs. Harper is seated comfortably in her frilly nightgown, but her hair is perfectly styled and her rouge is precisely applied. There is a lit cigarette between her chubby fingers, while she reads the gossip section of the paper. The nurse continues to bustle about like a busy bee as if she has never stopped.

"Hello Mrs. Harper. How are you feeling?" she asks, unable to hide the cheerfulness of her mood.

"Got along rather well with him, didn't you?" the lady asks, peering at her over the frames of her reading glasses. There is an uncomfortable knowing glint in the older lady's all seeing eyes, that makes her happiness from the moment before seem sordid. It makes her fidget again with the strings of her racket in reaction. "Well, hurry up and dress," snaps Mrs. Harper, looking back down at the paper and taking a long drag of her cigarette. "I want you to make some calls." As if to make a show of things, she stumps out her ciggy in the open jar of facial crème on her nightstand before muttering, "I wonder if the Prince is still at the hotel."

Thankfully, the lady is not looking at her when she asks and therefore does not see the small smile that inevitably crawls across her lips at the flippantly uttered inquiry.

"I wrote him a note you know," she goes on to say with a smug smile on her lips. "Telling him that I felt so horrible about being sick with this dreadful cold that he must be bored, bored, bored here doing nothing but being by himself. That he must be lonely and should come and visit me or write me back but he hasn't. That naughty man!"

The following morning, the same occurs. Only this time, the Prince meets her in the lobby on the way to another predetermined activity and gently, persuasively takes her on another leisurely ride along the back roads of the city. One could not reject such an invitation to enjoy the scenic beauty off of the freeway. She sees more in these two afternoons than she would have ever seen had he not been so kind as to offer to take her. Through it all, he is a pleasant and quiet companion, occasionally speaking of their surroundings like any knowledgeable host and lending an ear whenever she would remember a story from her childhood. It is liken to feeling free for the first time. Free to be herself and speak to him without formality, telling him her thoughts and knew that he did not think her silly. Even though she knew she was and he even made inquiries when her stories would lapse.

Thus, another enjoyable afternoon passes in his company. The following day, he asks if he could escort her to dinner since she would be dining alone. Given that Mrs. Harper was still in need of her nurse and could not leave her rooms, it seemed a logical excuse. The idea had so delighted her that she takes great pains to look the best that she can for their shared meal. It was one thing to have an impromptu breakfast but an entirely different matter to have dinner together. At least to her, that is.

The evening turns out simply magical to her. How could it not, when she held the attentions of a man like him. Between the main and dessert courses, he asks her to dance a slow waltz with him on the small dance floor. She is so encompassed in his presence that she does not even pay attention to any of the curious stares of those around them. All she knows are the smooth notes of the band playing, the gentle sway of his lead and his arm around her waist. Along with their hands, holding the other's as they move together. For a moment, she feels part of a fairy tale and closes her eyes dreamily to the sounds of the music. Only to look up and find his gaze looking at her intently with a teasing smile on his lips. A blush creeps on her face as he chuckles and she laughs nervously with a shake of her head to come back into reality.

The amused look on his face is understandable. This is no more romantic to him than babysitting would be. With his sharp dinner jacket and expensive cuff links, his tightly pressed slacks and meticulously shined shoes, he was the epitome of a distinguished gentleman. While she, with her tiny barrettes and simple summer gown, that made her look more like a little girl than a young woman. She was absolutely out of her league being with so regal a man. He was too much more intelligent, personable, witty and refined for someone so untalented, poor, plain and awkward as she is. So she accepts that while he is merely being obliging and in need of company, she allows herself this fantasy. Which was not possible. But even knowing the truth, she lets herself have this one night of pretend while dancing in his arms. Which was the limit of their contact. Only the occasional touch here and there. He did not make her feel uncomfortable by being particularly touchy, but he only did so when it was proper to do so.

The next day, after lunch, she picks up her racket to keep up the rouse that she was still taking those tennis lessons, since this time her and the Prince have already made plans to go on another drive, and bids her afternoon farewell to Mrs. Harper.

"For the amount of lessons you've had, you might as well be ready for Wimbleton!" Mrs. Harper exclaims, clucking her tongue in a disapproving manner. "Thing is, with that nurse here, you haven't had anything to do. But I'm getting rid of that nurse today and tomorrow you'll stick to your job."

"Yes, Mrs. Harper," she mumbles, fighting the heart broken look that she knows is on her face at the unpleasant news.

This means, no more afternoons with the Prince. No more opportunities to be in his company without the accompaniment of Mrs. Harper. So soon the dream is shattered and she must face reality already. So she resolves to make the most of this last afternoon with him. Today, she would enjoy it to the fullest. She could always be depressed tomorrow, but today, she would relish their afternoon drive together without worry. So, she greets the Prince, who is already waiting at her side of the car with her door open, cheerfully and then expertly makes herself comfortable inside.

"You know," she contemplates once they are off on the familiar highway. "I wish they would come up with an invention that would bottle up a memory like perfume. So that whenever I wanted, I could uncork the bottle and relive the memory over and over again and it never got old; never got stale or faded."

"And what memory, in your young life, would you want to relive?" he asks in amusement.

"You are not much older than I," she teases. He may act like someone ten years older than she, but he cannot be _that_ much older.

"Sometimes I feel as if I have already lived a lifetime. I have seen and done and lived too much already," he remarks. "So, which memories would you bottle up?"

"All of them," she says excitedly. "All these last few days. I feel as if… I've collected a whole shelf full of bottles." She ends with a wistful sigh.

"You know those same bottles can also contain demons," he says darkly. "That will pop up at you when you so desperately want to forget."

Just like now. His words have such a crushing effect on her that her shoulders sag. She has no doubt that he is picturing the love and happiness of his lost wife when he says this. It only further presses the point that this man could never see her as a woman, but only as a girl.

"Oh! I wish I was a woman dressed in black satin and a string of pearls!" she cries out in despair, because that is exactly the picture she sees of his late wife. A sophisticated beauty with such lovely satiny garments and jewelry who was sure of herself and proud of her bearing.

To her astonishment, he barks out a laugh in his surprise and glances over at her. "You wouldn't be here with me if you were," he comments, thoroughly amused by her plea.

Because of course, she would look ridiculous in such a get up, even if she could afford it. Black satin would not look seductive on her and pearls were way beyond her means so it would not make her look refined either. Inadequacy fills her anew at the disappointing image. How so inelegant she was in comparison.

"Your Majesty," she states in distress. "Please, tell me why you keep asking me to spend time with you. Obviously you want to be kind. But, why do you choose me for your charity?"

He comes to a jerky stop along the side of the road and puts the car into park before turning his heated gaze at her. His look is too heated, she thinks, for her statement. He looks angry and insulted and she has no idea why that could be.

"I ask you out with me because I enjoy your company. You have brought out more beauty than all the superficial lights of this city," he says almost resentfully. He sounds so agitated that she can feel tears prick her eyes at putting him into such a state. "Now if you are thinking that I am only doing this out of charity or _kindness_ you should just get out of this car right now."

The emphasis on "kindness" was said with such disdain, that she knows she has, indeed, insulted him.

There is no use for it after that. She bursts into indelicate tears of sorrow at upsetting him so.

Just as suddenly, his face softens as he watches her genuine remorse and his blackened mood lifts. He offers her his handkerchief and pleads for her not to cry.

"Forgive me," he soothes. "Dry your eyes."

"Thank you," she manages to say through a sob and wipes her eyes with the fine linen of his handkerchief.

"I have gotten used to a lack of pleasantries," he explains. "I seem to have lost my tactfulness through isolated living."

She does not respond for her sniffling. Not that she is cross with him. Not at all. If anything, she knows that she has insulted him by saying that he was merely being kind. How many times already has she claimed that of him? He must surely be sick of hearing it. She can understand the awkwardness when she, herself, was awkward. Having never had much opportunity to practice her social skills growing up.

"Please do not call me, 'Your Majesty'," he requests. "I am no more a prince than any other bloke. I have a rather impressive array of names to choose from. Noctis Lucis Caelum, but you needn't bother with them. My friends call me Noct. I would rather you called me Noctis."

"Noctis," she repeats, getting a feel for his name on her tongue. She sniffs, but now her tears are drying when he leans in closer to peer into her weepy face.

"And promise me never to wear black satin or pearls," he asks of her. "Or to wish to be anything other than what you are."

"Yes, Noctis," she promises faithfully. What else can she do when he looks at her so?

He gives her one of his small smiles. A pleased smile before he kisses the pad of his pointer finger and presses it against her forehead to transfer his kiss. Gently, he brushes a few stray hairs away from her face and gives her another long searching look. He must see something in her eyes that eases him further and then he's pulling away again and their drive continues. This time she must look in a daze of disbelief that he should bestow such an intimate gesture upon _her._


	6. Decerno

Decerno is Latin for "to decide, determine, settle".

_**Chapter Six: Decerno**_

The following morning found her humming an indecipherable tune. One that did not come from a particular song, except a happy one in her head. She just feels airy and light and… happy. Earlier, there had been an unexpected knock on her door. Her first thought had been that it was her employer with another request. So she had been completely thrown when a large bouquet of flowers had greeted her instead. They were the most elegant and expensive blooms she has ever thought o be gifted with and thought surely they were not really for _her_. The bellhop had refused any tip, citing that all expenses had already been looked after for, though the bouquet was quite heavy. He had placed it gently upon her writing desk, in full view of the entire room that she called her temporary home and had been off before she could properly get over her shock over such a lovely surprise. She is _still_ in shock. She thought for sure that such an extravagant arrangement of flowers must be for Mrs. Harper and not her. That is, until, she saw that the card, which had been tied to a particularly lovely blossom, was addressed to "_The Pool Nymph_".

The masculine scroll that lined the words immediately told her who the flowers were from, if the inscription had not and her hearted that stuttered in her chest when she had read the words writing by his own hand.

_"I am sorry for being such a cad yesterday. Thank you for a lovely afternoon. – Noctis"_

She is just putting away the note when she hears Mrs. Harper shout a loud exclamation of excitement.

"Quick! Come here!" Mrs. Harper bellows out to her.

She rushes through the door to the Lady's adjoining room to see her waving a letter in her hand excitedly.

"My daughter is engaged to be married!"

"Oh how wonderful!" she exclaims, happy for her Ladyship's sake.

"Hurry! We must secure transportation on the next flight out of the country to New York." Mrs. Harper instructs, talking rapidly. "We must leave immediately. Start packing and don't doddle!"

Which has her scurrying back to her rooms in order to execute those orders and feeling a sense of panic too. Leave? Now?

But, the Prince!

She makes a dash to the phone and quickly rings the operator.

"Prince Noctis' rooms, please," she instructs quickly.

"I am sorry Miss, but His highness has gone out riding this morning."

A sinking feeling builds in her chest at the news.

"He won't be back til noon."

This means that he may not be back in time for her to say her farewell to him. Was that to be it? Leaving without a word of thanks and to never look at his face again? The pain of that conclusion is like a blow.

"Oh, I see," she says, trying not to sound as despondent as she feels. "Connect me to the porter, please."

The next few hours are hectic and chaotic and a blur behind tear filled eyes. When each fully packed trunk is stacked and ready to go, she feels her heart breaking anew when the clock still would not reach the twelfth hour. Her Ladyship hardly noticed her distress in the bustle of getting everything in order. Their stay would have lasted another week and the amount of luggage that Mrs. Harper had required was voluminous. Her own lone suitcase seemed inconsequential besides such finery. Still, as excessively as Mrs. Harper had packed, noon did not come soon enough.

It is just past that time when the last of the luggage is ready to be taking down to the car. The bellhops are already in the process of loading their carts with the heavy duty trunks and she cannot wait a moment longer. She _had_ to try and ring him again. Just to hear his voice if not see his face, for one last time before she is headed off to another country where there would be more than an ocean between him and her.

"I think I might have forgotten to pack my book," she says by way of excuses to Mrs. Harper before running off her to rooms again. The Lady only offers her a distracted nod in response.

She hurries into her empty room and snatches the receiver from the cradle.

"Has Prince Noctis come back from his ride yet?" she asks in a pleadingly desperate voice.

"He has, ma'am," is the reply.

"Oh he has!" she exclaims, her heart about to burst from this surge of simple joy.

The operator connects her to the Prince's rooms, only to ring and ring without a reply. It gets to the fourth ring before she hears the sounds of Mrs. Harper coming into her room and has just enough time to place the receiver back onto the cradle before she can catch her.

"I can't seem to find it," she says absently, making a show of looking around the table. "I must have packed it."

"Well hurry up!" snaps Mrs. Harper, with a squeak of exasperation. "The car is waiting!"

"Yes," she says humbly and follows right behind her. Her heart threatens to leap out of her throat when she hears the phone ring again just as they are exiting the suites.

She fidgets uncontrollably throughout the entire ride down the lift and bounces on her feet as they make their way to the two cars that are carrying their luggage in the valet. When Mrs. Harper stops to count each case, she makes her excuses again.

"I want to leave a forwarding address in case they should find my book," she says, rushing away before Mrs. Harper can stop her and makes her way towards the front desk. When she asks the clerk to ring Noctis' rooms, he offers her a kind smile before connecting the call and waiting for an answer.

A few moments later he offers her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry Miss, but there is no answer."

"Thank you," she says absently, before quickly walking over to the dining hall in hopes that he is there to dine.

"I'm sorry Miss," apologizes the Maitre 'dm who recognizes her immediately, once she gets there. "His Majesty has just ordered his meal in his rooms."

Without thought to the consequences or propriety, she hurries to his rooms. So anxious to see him is she that she does not even thinking things through before she finds herself knocking on his door. Standing there, she has a short moment to wonder at her rationality by being so outrageous. He was a prince! All he would be sorry for, was a loss in companion and he could very easily find another, while their separation is already devastating her.

"Come in!" he bellows out before she can change her mind and leave. He has left the door slightly ajar, obviously expecting room service and not a crazed girl in love with him.

Once she enters and finds herself in the middle of his empty living room, she is suddenly too choked to speak. Too choked to say her good byes. Too choked to say anything at all. Then he is stepping out of his bedroom, looking fresh from a shower. His hair is just styled and he only has his jeans on without a shirt. He must have been in the middle of shaving because there are still spots of shaving cream all around his face.

"Hello," he says pleasantly. He looks surprised at her presence but not upset that she was over stepping her boundaries. "What are you doing here?"

He looks so handsome and virile that her heart aches anew at having to leave him.

"I came to say good bye," she says, sounding hollow and stiff when she feels anything but at the moment. "We're going away."

The smile dissolves on his lips and he sits on the arm of one of the plush chairs. He looks at her solemnly for a heartbeat, wiping at his face absently with a towel.

"Where is she taking you?" he asks quietly.

"To New York," she mumbles, fighting tears. "I shall hate it. I shall be miserable."

He gives her another long look that made it impossible to know what he was thinking.

"I need to put the rest of my clothes on," he says, picking up a freshly pressed shirt from the back of one of the chairs. "I will be right in here. I will not be long."

He disappears from whence he came and she feels her urgency to leave return. Of course he would not be in a rush and she hardly thinks it is necessary for him to finish dressing when she has said what she has come to say. Mrs. Harper would give her a heated scolding for this and she starts inching towards the door. She is just kicking herself for being all kinds of a fool. He had not looked nearly as crushed at her leaving as she was in doing so.

"Which would you prefer," he asks conversationally, from the next room. "New York or Manderley?"

"Please do not joke about it. Mrs. Harper is waiting and I really have to say good bye now!" she cries, stepping closer to the door.

"I repeat what I said," he responds. "Either you go to New York or you can come to Manderley with me."

"Did you need a secretary or something?" she asks hopefully. That was a much better and ideal situation than what she had now.

"I am asking you to marry me, you little fool."

"…"

Her mouth opens in a gape but her lips can do nothing else. Both legs give out and she finds herself sinking into a chair in shock. Had he really just said what he had just said? That did not make any sense. Why would he want to…

A knock at the door disturbs her stupor but she makes no move to get up. For her legs do not respond to her command. Neither does her mouth.

"Come in!" he calls out from the bedroom. He pokes his head out first, before the rest of him reappears and greets the server. "Is that my food? I am famished. I have not had any breakfast." He adds the last few buttons on his collared shirt when he makes his way to her looking freshly groomed and perfect and looks at her curiously while the server sets the table for them both. If they are surprised by having another person there, they do not show it.

He pulls a chair out for her and ushers her out of hers so as to sit beside him at the table. Then he seats himself comfortably and lays his napkin onto his lap.

"Oh my," he says, looking a little shy at her lack of reaction. "My suggestion did not at all go over well, did it? I'm sorry."

"I'm just confused," she says honestly. "I'm not the sort of woman, men marry."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"I mean you are you and I am, me. You know what I mean," she stutters.

"No, I am afraid I do not," he replies, looking so genuinely baffled and that part of her that isn't so shocked, loves him even more for it.

"I don't belong in your sort of world," she explains.

"What sort of world is that?"

"Your position, Manderley… and all those things."

"I should think I would be an expert on whether or not you belong in my world and Manderley," he states indifferent to her reasoning. "Of course if you do not love me than that is more understandable. Just a devastating blow to my conceit, that's all."

"Oh, but I do love you," she blurts out. "I love you most dreadfully. I've been crying all morning because I thought I'd never see you again."

His eyes soften and he offers her a sad smile before taking her hand.

"Bless you for that," he thanks. "I will remind you of this one day, but you will not believe me. It is a pity that I cannot keep you just like this forever." He speaks the words so mournfully, squeezing her hand and offering her another sad smile. Then all melancholy is gone and he starts to butter his toast. "Now enough of that. It is settled then. Pour me some coffee please. I prefer a bit little bit of cream and sugar. I take it sweeter than creamier. Same with my tea. You won't forget, will you?"

"Never," she promises, happy to be of use to him. She is still in denial about his sudden proposal of marriage, but such a menial preference was what she was used to remembering.

"So who shall tell Mrs. Harper?" he asks. "Shall you or shall I?"

"You tell her," she begs, beginning to shake nervously. "She will be so angry."

"What is the number of her rooms?" he asks indifferently, reaching over to grab the telephone.

"She is not in her rooms. She is out in the car," she answers apprehensively.

"Hello? Give me the desk please," he says, leaning in closer to her as he waits for the call to connect. "Would you please go to the car out front and tell Mrs. Harper, with my compliments, if she would be so very kind as to come up and see me. "Yes, in my rooms." He offers her a smile, which she cannot help but smile back at, even though she is terrified of Mrs. Harper's reaction.

With their guest on her way up, he finishes up his toast quickly before taking her hand and urging her to stand.

"This is just awful, isn't it?" asks Noctis, looking saddened for her sake. "This is not at all how it should be for you. You should be with someone less jaded and more romantic. We should be in a secluded garden somewhere amongst the flowers and I should be making violent love to you under a willow tree." He twirls her around the room wistfully and then brings her into an affectionate embrace. "I am so sorry, darling."

"I really don't mind," she reassures him with a small chuckle at his antics, but she sinks into his embrace and is rewarded with a peck on the cheek.

The happy moment is broken when there is a brisk knock at the door and she scurries to hide behind one of the columns beside it.

"Easy now," he soothes, standing just so, so that Mrs. Harper would focus on him and not notice her right away. "You do not have to say anything. Just let me handle it."

"I do so humbly apologize, Your Majesty!" cries Mrs. Harper excitedly, busting into the rooms with a small bow. "It was very rude of me to try and leave before saying good bye, but I just received some news this morning that my daughter is engaged to be married."

"What a lovely coincidence Mrs. Harper," says Noctis pleasantly. "I have invited you up to announce my own engagement."

"_Your_ engagement?" Mrs. Harper nearly screeches in excitement at being privy to such news. "Who _is_ the lucky lady?"

Noctis motions to where she is standing just behind her Ladyship by way of answer. When Mrs. Harper turns her head to look, the smile drains away and her face turns sour.

"I apologize for depriving you of your companion," says Noctis.

"When did all this happen?" Mrs. Harper demands, too stunned to even fake pleasantness at the news. She looks pinched and ready to rail at her.

"Only a few minutes ago, Mrs. Harper," she answers.

"I … can't... believe...," Mrs. Harper scoffs before she remembers that Noctis stands just a few feet away and is watching her carefully. She forces a smile back to her face and turns back to her. "I suppose I ought to scold you for not having breathed a word of this to me," she tells Noctis with a cluck of her tongue and looks between the two of them cautiously. Cautious only because Noctis is here. It looks almost as if it pains her to keep such a pleasant face when she wants to make an ugly one. "You sly little thing! When and where is the wedding to be?"

"Here, as soon as possible," answers Noctis, cautiously

"A whirlwind romance!" cries Mrs. Harper. "Well, as this child has no mother, I shall supervise and make all the necessary arrangements and I can even give the bride away! I could easily postpone my trip for another week. But our luggage!" she shouts, whirling at her. "Quick! Get our luggage!"

She is about to comply when Noctis takes her by her shoulders and presses her back reassuringly against his chest.

"We appreciate your generosity, Mrs. Harper, but we would both prefer to keep this as quiet as possible," he says and when the lady opens her mouth to protest, he cuts her off. "We would never forgive ourselves the expense you will suffer for canceling your journey."

Mrs. Harper's mouth is open and poised to offer a denial but there is a look to Noctis' eye now that brooks no argument.

"Now, I shall fetch your luggage," he offers to her with a small smile. "Be right back darling." He offers her shoulders an encouraging squeeze.

"Thank you, Noctis," she says, watching him go with the porter in order to get her things before slowly turning to face her former employer.

"So this is what has been happening during my illness!" Mrs. Harper spits venomously. "I have to hand it to you for being a fast worker. Still waters certainly run deep! How did you manage it?" She does a cynical circle around her, making her feel even more lacking, before turning to stare at herself in the hanging looking glass over the fireplace. "You will have your hands full being mistress of Manderley." She snips open her purse and takes out her powdering puff and dabs at her cheeks arrogantly. "Frankly my dear, I don't see you doing it. You haven't the foggiest idea what it means to be a great lady. You lack neither the sociability, class or knowledge of how to manage such an estate as Manderley. Not to mention the duties you will be expected to perform." She turns around to look at her disapprovingly. "Have you been doing something you shouldn't?"

The insinuation bristles her shoulders. "I have no idea what you mean," she says indignantly. Such a mention was insulting and yet, she is helpless to defend herself. It was the same conclusion any one would make about her when they found out about all this. No one is more surprised at Noctis' proposal than she is. But it does not mean it does not anger her anyway.

"Ha! Never mind," Mrs. Harper laughs mirthlessly. "I always did say that the monarchy had strange taste." She lifts her chin in order to sniff down her nose at her. "You know _why _he wants to marry you, don't you? You have not fancied yourself into thinking that he actually loves you. The truth is, being alone in that house has probably gotten to his head."

"You should leave now, Mrs. Harper," she interrupts with a straightening of her shoulders. "You will miss your train."

The Lady makes a show of slowly extricating a cigarette before shutting her purse with a loud snap and taking a long drag. She eyes her with unsuppressed contempt before she makes her way to the door and sneers back at her. "Princess Caelum. Ha! Good bye my dear and good luck!" She scoffs by way of farewell and slams the door behind her.

She jumps at the cracking sound of the slam and trembles. What the other woman had said was frightening in its truthfulness and she feels a sense of dark foreboding as she waits for Noctis to return with her bags. What was she getting herself into?


	7. Maritus

**Author's Note**: It has been noted that a few feel that things are being rushed. That is what a whirlwind romance is, as mentioned by Mrs. Harper in the previous chapter. Many people meet and marry while on holiday impulsively. Why do you think Las Vegas has so many chapels? I would also like to say that in regards to Noctis already having been married, that he is a royal. Meaning that they are required to marry young by tradition to bear an heir as quickly as possible. So his marrying at 18 or younger, would not exactly, be weird. That he would want to marry again quickly, is not either. The question is, why _her_? It should also be noted (and another reminder) that I am following a novel and film adaptation. So, if you have any qualms about this, you can take it up with the author. Who, I must point out, is dead.

Maritus is Latin for, "Husband".

_**Maritus**_

A very short civil ceremony, which garnered more than one raised eyebrow from both the clerk and the judge, was held without delay right after Mrs. Harper's departure. Noctis had said it would be more prudent and, though he knew I deserved an extravagant affair, he could not wait. As they had not had a chaperone after that and despite the fact that she had no relations to be worried of, Noctis confessed that he would be very vexed were some eager reporter were to paint her as a harlot. Well, there was nothing more to say after that. It was a bit relief to her anyway that their wedding would not be a media circus. She was not extravagant and did not know how to be either and no doubt the press would have wanted something gallant. Another thing she was not. Considering, that she had never planned on marrying to begin with and she certainly had not meant to entice Noctis into marrying _her_. It still shocks her to think that he had even wanted to. She thought he was being very chivalrous to consider her reputation and saving her the upheaval of a grand affair. So, they had hastened without delay to the small chapel and were married. Before she could comprehend what was going on, it was official and they were both being congratulated on becoming newlyweds.

Noctis seemed so rushed to get the whole thing over and done with that he quickly accepted those offers of congratulations with proper thanks and had herded her out of the door before she could catch her breathe. She supposes that is why they called it a "whirlwind" romance. She had indeed felt she was in one.

"Your Highness!" shouted the judge, once they had reached the ground level of the small chambers. The judge speaks to them so rapidly that she hardly understands what he wants.

"What a disaster that would have been," commented Noctis with a chuckle.

"What did he say?"

"He says I have forgotten the proof that we are married," he smiled, before walking just under the window where the judge had been leaning out.

She laughed at the image of Noctis catching the small bit of paper that was proof that they were legally wed as it floated down into his' waiting hands. Then he had turned to her with one of his rare smiles before he offered her, his arm. She ran to him happily, resting her head against his shoulder as they walked the few feet towards his car.

"Look," Noctis pointed out. "Someone else had the same idea." He motioned to a small procession of celebrators surrounding A happy and beaming young couple that had looked no older than their late teens in the very center of their excitement. She and Noctis had embraced each other as the small, merry group passed them by. Some had been throwing rice and some had helped in holding the veil as it trailed behind the blushing bride. She had felt so happy and hopeful for their sake and her own.

"Isn't she sweet?" she had asked Noctis, settling herself in the passenger side and watching how the bride glowed with happiness.

"Yes," Noctis had replied absently with his blue eyes focused intently upon her face. His eyes had taken on that melancholic look that makes her nervous before he noticed something just out of her line of sight. "You would like something like that, would you not?"

She had looked at him curiously, wondering what he could be thinking of.

"In fact," he had said, his voice trailed off as he left her beside the car. When she had turned around to follow him with her eyes she noticed the cart full of flowers off the side of the small road. Then, to her amazement, he had proceeded to buy _all_ the flowers that the little old lady had been selling and approached the car with a huge armload of exotic blooms.

"Oh Noctis!" she had cried in delight. He had virtually buried her in soft petals of various shades. She had been drowning in the lovely scents of the flowers and there had been no words to express her happiness. "Noctis, how lovely! How perfectly lovely." She breathed them in, feeling such happiness bloom in her own breast at not only being chosen but dotted on as well, by this amazing man. "Perfectly lovely."

What the ceremony may have lacked, was made up for during the honeymoon that had followed. Those days together with Noctis had been the most carefree of her life. Seldom during that time did he get broody and distant. Instead he had been attentive and fun. So much more than the companion who had taken her on such lovely afternoon drives with him. Those nights were just as wonderful but those had been tinged with a sense of... she is not sure how to describe their nights. Having had no experiences nor of heard of any references of what occurred between a man and wife in the bedroom, she can only go by the feelings that had coursed within her when he touched her. The intensity of his stare had her wondering whether he had been really seeing _her_ and not someone else. There seemed a level of desperation in him that gave her the impression that he was almost _afraid_ of something. Sad and afraid and it makes her feel inadequate there too. It had all seemed like a dream in a way. The way he was the dark, burdened hero in a story at those times.

Now, like all dreams, for their honeymoon was like a dream to her, it ends too quickly. In direct contrast to the extra cab that had been necessary for all of Mrs. Harper's many things, she and Noctis only had one bag of luggage each. Everything had fit very nicely in the trunk of his convertible, which had allowed more carefree travel. He let the top down so that she could enjoy the long and scenic drive that would take them to her new home. The salty seaside air blew in her tresses and the more she took in the land that belonged to her husband, the more her new reality was sinking in. It was easy to forget that her marriage to Noctis meant that she was now in an elevated position of prestige. A part of her was already conscious of that fact, of course. Noctis was treated to only the best of everything, wherever they had found themselves. It is just that, it was easier to forget when it had always mostly been just the two of them alone. Now though, they would be entering his world, his daily life and... it hits her that she hadn't a clue of what to do. Mrs. Harper's words ring through her ears and her hands begin to shake and become sweaty with her anxiety.

Then a hand reaches over to land on top of her own clenched ones. When she looks over at his face, he offers her a small smile before he returns his eyes to the road again.

"Do not worry, luv," he says. "Just be yourself and they will all adore you."

His words warm her through and through and she revels for a moment in his praise.

Until a fat drop of water hits her square on the nose. Quickly followed by another and then a whole wave of more.

"Looks like it is an onslaught," Noctis remarks with a little laugh while he presses for the roof to close.

Of which the roof does not retract fully until _after_ she is thoroughly soaked.

The drive from the main gate to the estate is a long, winding road wrapping around the small forest of trees that granted the residents privacy from the many outsiders that would love to get a peek of their lives. So, it seemed all at once that she is treated to a full view of a house so stunning, her mouth opens in gaping surprise.

"That's it! That, is Manderley," announces Noctis, sounding proud as he speeds up to reach the front steps.

Even through the heavy sheets of rain, she can see how grand and opulent and sprawling the structure is. It was bigger than the resort where they had met, with far more history and heritage. Seeing it in person made any postcard pale in comparison. It was a huge testament to how vast the differences between Noctis and herself. She feels her anxiety increase as they get closer and closer until finally, Noctis pulls the car right up to the steps where a footman is ready with a large umbrella while another was already leaping forward to begin gathering their bags from the trunk.

"Hiya Frith," greets Noctis, when they huddle briefly under the large umbrella that the much older man holds out for them. "This is Mrs. Caelum, the new Princess."

"How do you do?" she asks, awkwardly holding out her hand to shake.

For a very brief moment, Frith hesitates in taking it and she knows she has already made a blunder. A Princess would most like not shake hands with a servant. Before she can pull her hand away, he reaches out and gives hers a brief shake before Noctis leads her through the threshold. They are both brushing off the moisture hurriedly from their coats when she turns to see what looks to be the entire staff waiting in an assembly line, watching them. The many eyes observing her coldly make her acutely aware of how much she must resemble a wet mope and nothing like the demure and sophisticated lady she should be. Her hair is currently sticking to the sides of her face and her clothes are drenched. She does not want to, but she cannot help doing what she does whenever she is nervous.

She fidgets.

"I did not realize that everyone would be here to greet us," mutters Noctis in mild annoyance as Frith helps him out of his coat.

"Mrs. Etro's orders, Your Highness," apologizes Frith in a low voice.

"Oh very well. Let us get this over with, shall we?" Noctis asks her, putting his hand comfortingly on the small of her back. "I promise, this will not take long."

With his warm assurance, she ascends the stairs of the tremendously large, high ceiling room for introductions. None openly welcome her nor do they smile, which makes her fidget even more. They are just approaching the line of servants when a lone, stoic figure steps into her line of view.

"Darling, this is Mrs. Etro, the head maid of the house," introduces Noctis.

"How do you do?"

"How do you do, Madam?" Mrs. Etro greets monotonously. Her face is pale and small with black hair that is tightly pulled back in a strict bun. Her garments are black and reminded her of her old school mistress from her school days. She does not smile either. Her face not one that looked as if it smiled very often. Her black eyes bored down from over her large nose cooly, with no expression but the disapproval is there just the same.

"Good evening," she stammers.

"Good evening," Mrs. Etro replies, in a clipped voice. "I have everything in readiness for you."

"Oh, thank you. I was not expecting anything," she stutters, her hands shaking so much she drops her small purse. She kneels quickly to retrieve it, only to have Mrs. Etro's bony fingers beat her to it and they end up rising to their feet together awkwardly. The older woman calmly hands it back to her and she fumbles clumsily to hold it more securely. "Thank you."

"Now enough of that," says Noctis impatiently and gives her a gentle nudge forward and away from all these curious eyes. "Now that everyone has gotten a good look at you, you need to get warm and refresh yourself. Come along now, Darling." He leads her away to her rooms before anyone can say anything else and she is relieved beyond words at his intrusion. Taking her by the hand, he leads her up the grand staircase to the east wing and shows her to her own special room.

A very charming room with a lovely view of the flower gardens and more space than she has ever been granted and had no idea what to do with. With promises to see her at dinner in an hour, he leaves her to sort herself. A young maid is already waiting there, with her evening dress laid out. A sweet girl, who is the first to actually offer her a smile named Alice. Before long, she is dressed and feeling much better about herself. When she is running a brush through her newly dried hair, there is a knock at the door.

"Oh Noctis! Come in!" she cries excitedly, eager to see his face.

Only, it is not Noctis that walks through the door.

It is Mrs. Etro.

"Oh," she says, her expression falling at the appearance of the chilly woman. "Good evening, Mrs. Etro."

"Good evening, Madam," Mrs. Etro's monotonous voice replies. With a jerk of her head, Alice scurries away and leave them alone. "I hope Alice was satisfactory, Madam. She will have to do until your own maid arrives."

"Alice was just fine," she says nervously. "I am sure she will be good enough for me."

"I am afraid that will not do for very long, Madam," says Mrs. Etro. "Alice is a parlour maid. It is required for ladies in your position to have your own personal maid." The demeaning tone is missing but the statement stings just the same. There was no personal maid to be sent for, when she had none. Which means that she would have to find one, making it even more obvious what sort of lowly background she was from. "I have come up to review the menu for this evening, Madam."

Mrs. Etro holds out a small card with selected dishes for the upcoming dinner and she takes it from her unsteadily.

"It looks lovely," she says, unfamiliar with some of the names.

"You notice that I have not chosen a sauce. The former princess was very particular about sauces."

"Oh. Um, well I will let you choose whichever one you think she would have preferred."

"Thank you," Mrs. Etro replies directly. "I hope the room is suitable for you, Madam."

"Oh yes, it is very nice. I hope you did not go to too much trouble."

"I did only what Prince Noctis instructed."

"Did you have to alter it much?" she asks. "What did it look like before?"

"It had an older curtain and browns were more prominent."

"Was it Noctis' room before?"

"No Madam," Mrs. Etro answers, as if such a notion were unimaginable. "He has never used the East Wing before. Of course, there is no view of the sea from here. There is only the one room in the West Wing that has the best."

"The garden view suits me just fine," she reassures. "The room is very charming and I am sure I will be quite comfortable."

Mrs. Etro gives a small nod of her head before opening one of the windows for her to let some of the cool evening air in.

"So, have you been here longer than everyone else?" she asks, trying to get a grasp on a conversation. She so dearly needed an ally.

"Not so long as Frith, the butler. He was here when the old King was living."

"And you came after that?"

"I came when the first Mrs. Caelum was a bride," Mrs. Etro says bluntly and a touch resentfully too.

Which could only mean that _she_ had been the former Mrs. Caelum's personal maid. A large pit grows in her stomach at the knowledge and she understands where the coldness comes from. She rises from the bench she is sitting in and moves to stand beside the older woman.

"Mrs. Etro, I would really appreciate your help. This sort of life is new to me and I do want to make a success of it. I want to ensure that I make the prince very happy. I hope I can leave all the household arrangements to you."

"Very well, Madam. I have managed all this time and his Majesty has never complained."

"Thank you," she says, smiling as warmly as she can but it is difficult when the recipient does not smile back. "Well, I think I shall go downstairs now."

Mrs. Etro offers her a small bow and waits for her to exit the room before following silently behind her as she makes the stairs back down to the library. The stairs stop midway down to split into two directions, one to her where her rooms are in the east wing and another towards the West wing. When she reaches that segway, Mrs. Etro stops her.

"That room in the West wing that I mentioned to you earlier," the intimidating woman says. She inclines her head to the ornate double doors that are visible from the staircase. "It is that room there. The most beautiful room in the entire house with a view of the sea."

She stares at the doors curiously, noticing a lone pooch, lying just outside them as if waiting for its master to come.

"It was the Princess' rooms."

Her entire body flinches at those words and she hurries down the steps for dinner.

The most beautiful room in the house.

The most beautiful room in the house and it had belonged to _her_.

She tries not to think about it as she sits in her designated chair at the longer dinner table across from Noctis a little while later. The table is so long that they cannot talk to each other without their words ringing out to the servants. No conversation in an echoing room and she does not think she has ever felt so intimidated. She reaches for her napkin, only to feel a stabbing sense of inadequacy to see that embroidered into the fine linen were the initials, "R. Caelum". A large lump forms in her throat, but when she looks up and sees Noctis offer her a shy smile from across the long table, she smiles back just as warmly before they both tuck into their evening meal together.

* * *

><p>A quick update for Kals. :)<p> 


	8. Premo

Premo is Latin for, "Overwhelm".

_**Chapter Eight: Premo**_

The smell of the fresh morning blooms just outside her windows along with the serene melody of fluttering birds greets her the next day. The daily joy of a new and fresh start feels more daunting today than she can ever remember. She tries to keep up her optimism when the hopeful rays of sunshine beam so brightly. Still, it is difficult to when she feels so filled with nervous agitation. As much as she would like to hide away in her room in hopes that they will forget about her, she knows she needs to do otherwise. It would not do to have the new lady of the house hiding away like a frightened mouse. Even though, really, that was exactly how she felt. All she needed was for Mrs. Etro to come and fetch her again. It is that worry that has her out of her door and heading down towards the dining room instead of remaining in hiding. To her immense relief she does not run into any servants along the way and she studiously ignores the West Wing while hurrying down the steps.

How was it that the house seemed grandeur and more intimidating than the day before? Sunlight casts a charming glow that showcased even more rich details in the architecture that she had not been able to make out in the dark the night before. It was a truly stunning house. She would need a more detailed tour because she would certainly get lost if left on her own. If only she could actually make such a request given her lack of nerves. At least, she knew where the dining hall was.

Timidly, she opens one of the massive double doors and peers into the room in hopes of finding Noctis. Only to see that not only was he not there, but there was a man about Noctis' age, settled at the other end of the table facing the doorway. He stands at attention when he sees her hiding behind the door and adjusts his glasses in a nervous gesture. Somehow that made her feel at ease with him and a small smile touches her lips as they walk towards each other in greeting.

"Hello," she says with her first easy smile, to someone besides Noctis, since coming here.

"The Princess Caelum, I presume," the man says cordially and a tad shyly. "You are, aren't you?"

"Yes, I believe so," she responds kindly.

"My name is Ignis. I'm the one that handles the Prince's estate here."

"It is very nice to meet you Ignis," she says, remembering what Noctis has already told her about him. This was the man that Noctis trusted the most and from his shy and friendly countenance, she instantly feels at east with him too. "Noctis has told me so much about you."

"Oh," he stammers, looking a little bashful which even further endears him to her. "I was just getting ready to make the announcement that in honor your wedding, the servants will be getting an extra month's worth of wages and the tenant farmers will have a month's free rent."

"Oh! Was that Noctis' idea?" she asks, touched by her husband's generosity.

"Yes, it was."

"How lovely."

"Hello there, Ignis," calls out Noctis from the door way. It fills her with such joy with just the sight of him there. Most especially when he looks at her with a small affectionate smile with his approach. "Good morning, darling. Has Ignis gotten around to tell you about his precious books? I do not know how I could manage anything without him."

"If you ever need any help, please let me know, Ignis," she offers, hoping that it would be something to help her feel useful.

"See how precious she is?" comments Noctis, before pulling her into a hug. "None of this nonsense about working. Now, be a good girl and eat up. Cook will be very upset if you leave anything left on the buffet."

"I shall try my best Noctis," she says shyly pressing her forehead agains this chest briefly.

"We must be off," he says, patting her back gently. "I need to catch up on all that I have missed while being away." He pulls back to smile down at her. "And you need to get better acquainted with your new home."

She can only offer him a small smile in return because she is too intimidated to give him a big one. The thought of becoming adequately acquainted with this marvelous place was almost daunting. Especially when she had to ask Mrs. Etro for help with it. Even if she were comfortable, the thought of becoming familiar to such splendor as Manderley was something she did not think she would _ever_ get accustomed to.

He lays another adoring kiss upon her forehead and another reassuring squeeze before heading towards the doors with Ignis.

"Oh yes!" he says, turning around with a snap of his fingers and looks back at her apprehensively. "My sister Beatrice and her husband are coming this afternoon."

"Today?" she asks, fighting the squeak of fright that she wishes she could release at the news.

"Seems the old girl cannot wait to have a look at you," he explains with a smile. "You will find her very direct. If she does not like you she will very well tell you to your face."

Ignis chuckles silently in answer which makes her feel even more nervous. Those were not comforting words, but she can appreciate the fair warning. She would much prefer direct disapproval than subtle disdain.

"I will be back before they get here to rescue you so do not worry darling," he reassures, continuing on his way. "Good bye darling!"

"Good bye," she says weakly and offers Ignis a parting wave as the doors close behind them. He in turn gives her an awkward wave before the doors close completely behind them.

Left alone in the massive dining room, she gingerly makes her way to the breakfast buffet with her appetite completely taken away by nerves. A supreme waste when everything looks quite tasty but she cannot even think to eat any of it. Meeting Noctis' sister so quickly adds more anxiety to her already anxious situation. His sister, who was quite beautiful and regal and a bit of a tomboy, so the rumors said. She would undoubtedly think the same thoughts as Mrs. Harper as soon as she set her eyes on her.

After staring at each tray and finding nothing that she could possibly eat, she settles on a cup of tea before sitting awkwardly in one of the ornate dining chairs. She takes a deep breathe and remembers not to slouch. Not soon afterwards, Frank comes in along with Robert, another servant to wait on her. They each bow to her briefly in greeting before checking each tray on the buffet. Frank looks at her in worry when he sees that she has touched nothing.

"Was everything not to your liking, Madam?" he asks gently.

"No, not at all," she reassures, jumping to her feet nervously. "I am not really hungry this morning is all." She is almost to the doors when she realizes that she has forgotten her purse at the table.

Frank beats her to it and kindly hands it to her, though he looks understandably confused that she should be carrying it at all.

"Are you headed out somewhere this morning, Madam?" he inquires politely.

"Oh... well, I was not planning...," she explains awkwardly. She realizes how foolish it is to carry her purse around with her in her own house, but the house was so big that she felt she had to in order to have something for her hands to do. "Force of habit, I suppose."

She offers him an embarrassed smile, to which he looks back at her blankly in a comical way before she manages to shuffle towards the doors. A move which would have looked more dignified had she not stumbled on the door frame in her haste. Frank, who had been following behind her had swiftly steadied her with a hand on her elbow.

"Are you...?"

"I'm all right," she says quickly, with an awkward laugh. "I just slipped."

A few more steps and she has solid footing again. Then finds herself frozen at the sight of the vaulted receiving area. A grand entry way that led off to every portion of the house and perfectly enhanced by the light of the sun peeking in from the high windows. Everything was so exquisite that she was afraid to touch anything for fear of marring any of its beauty.

"It's all so lovely, isn't it?" she asks, marveling at the perfect symmetry of the walls around her.

"Yes, madam," answers Frank studiously. "Manderley is a beautiful place."

They both stand together for a moment to enjoy the view.

"As you know, the public is allowed to visit once a month and tour the grounds."

"How nice," she says with a smile of approval and heads to the one room she had grown comfortable in the night before with Noctis. The Library. Only, once she gets there, all the windows are open and there is a strong draft coming in. The massive fireplace is unlit as well. The room which had been so warm and cozy the night before, was too chilly to stay within now.

"We do not usually light the fire in the library until the late afternoon," explains Frank from the doorway. "Of course, if you would like the fire lit now, Madam."

"No, no Frank," she says with an urgent shake of her head. "I would not dream of changing the schedule." She rushes back out of the door but pauses at the threshold indecisively.

She really has no where to go.

"Princess Caelum," Frank says but stops short. "I mean, the _former _Princess always spent her mornings after breakfast in The Morning Room."

she tries very hard not to flinch at the reminder, but she graciously thanks Frank for giving her a place to go and starts to walk away. Only, to go three steps before she has to stop and ask him where the Morning Room was to begin with.

"Everything all right, Madam?" asks Frank, coming to stand beside her once again.

"Um, well," she asks, biting her nails nervously. "Where _is _The Morning Room?"

"Just across us, through that door there, Madam," states Frank, pointing towards a small door off to the side.

After thanking him again, she tries to walk as regally as she can, taking a deep breathe before slowly opening the door that led to the Morning Room.

Just as its name suggests, the room is cheerful and bright. A small fireplace flickers happily along the far wall with an elegant writing desk aligned with exquisite and adorable figurines decorated across the top. A cozy looking lounge sat near a large window over looking the inner courtyard and a fainting couch lay in front of the fireplace with a delicate table for one's use. This was, by all accounts, a woman's room; decorated by a woman for a woman. It was feminine and delicate, refined and tasteful. It was obvious who had made it just so by the carefully laid address book and stationary set with the bold letter "R" engraved across the covers. The room looks ready for use, but not by her. It was waiting for the rightful owner. The room was still waiting for Rebecca to return. Instead there was only her.

Curiously, she opens the address book to catch a glimpse of the people that had known Rebecca and Noctis. Every page seemed filled with the names of nobles, celebrities and many names that sounded familiar from her newspaper readings. She is just moving the book to get a better look at each of their names when her elbow pushes one of the delicate figures off the desk, where it shatters into thick pieces.

"Oh no!" she whispers hysterically. She needlessly looks about her to see if anyone might have been watching from the outside before she gathers the pieces and shoves it towards the back of one of the desk drawers.

Closing the drawer with a hard shove, she leans back in the chair with a loud sigh and a fast beating heart. Only to jump with a squeak when the telephone on top of the desk begins to ring insistently. She carefully picks up the receiver when no one rushes in to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Princess Caelum?"

"Oh I'm sorry. I am afraid you have made a mistake. The Princess has been dead for over a year," she says and replaces the receiver before she realizes her blunder. "Oh! But I am the Princess..."

As if on cue, there is a knock at the door before Mrs. Etro strolls in with the same cold and uninviting face. If anything, she looks even _more _imposing after everything that she has been through this long morning.

"That was most likely the head gardener, calling to ask for instructions on the new plants," Mrs. Etro explains.

"Oh, well..."

"I have come to go over tonight's menu with you. The Prince has told me that his sister is to come to dine for luncheon."

"Oh yes, she is."

Mrs. Etro holds out another menu card for her and she can already tell that she has no idea what will be appropriate.

"I will leave that in your capable hands, Mrs. Etro," she says.

"Very well, Madam," the older woman replies stiffly. "When you have finished your letters, Robert will take them to the post."

"My, my letters?" she asks dumbly before she realizes that she, as the lady of the house, should have many letters to write to her many friends. "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Etro."

The lady gives her an unreadable look, t hen bows before turning to slowly make her way out of the door, leaving her alone once again to wonder just how she was ever going to make a success of any of this.


	9. Sollicitus

Sollicitus is Latin for, "Uneasy, anxious".

_**Sollicitus**_

As soon as it was acceptable to do so, she fled the Morning Room and hurried back to her bedroom to spend the rest of the morning. The room, though not quite her own yet, was at least where she could be surrounded by all her things and not Rebecca's. Not that she had much by way of possessions but they were _hers_. All of her life was contained in one trunk whereas Rebecca's life filled an entire house. Much of her is glad. So very glad that she was not given Rebecca's old room. Of course it did not stop her from wondering just how it might look. The Morning Room had exuded taste, elegance and femininity in every detail. What would her bedroom be like in comparison? Thoughts like that would only make the feelings of inadequacy that much more, so she had managed to push those thoughts aside as best she could. Just when she has resolved to keep her chin up, the chiming of the bell signals the arrival of Noctis' sister and her husband.

No differently than a child would and nothing like the mistress of the house, she creeps to the edges of the staircase and peeps at them from behind a large pillar. She takes in their appearances as they enter the library to be received, by her. Her, being the hostess of this massive museum of a house brought the daunting feeling back. Taking a deep breathe and straightening her shoulders, she quietly walks down the steps to formally greet them.

"I must say Mrs. Etro is keeping the house looking lovely," comments who can only be Beatrice from inside. "She certainly learned that trick of arranging flowers from Rebecca."

"I wonder what she must think, having to serve a ex dancer now," muses the masculine voice of Beatrice's husband.

"Why on earth would you think she was an ex dancer?" asks Beatrice incredulously.

"Well, he met her in one of those night club resorts that are all the rage."

"So what?"

"Who else could it be? But an ex dancer from one of the clubs. Heaven forbid it be a waitress!"

She almost wishes that she _were_ an ex dancer. At least then, it would explain why Noctis would want to marry her. It would mean that she was beautiful and talented, not plain and talentless. She takes another breath and manages to step through the door without tripping and takes in both of their astonished faces with as much grace as she can.

"Hello," she says, walking towards them with a nervous smile. "I am…"

"Beatrice Caelum!" Beatrice says, thrusting a strong hand out to shake her weak one. "How do you do?"

She is tall, confident and strong looking. Not to mention beautiful and sharply dressed. She is, by all accounts, a powerful woman. A princess through and through. Her husband a fine nobleman with a kind, though often endearingly clueless looking face beside her that immediately made her like him.

"I must say," says Beatrice, looking her over openly. "You are not like what we expected."

"What are you saying? Of course she does! She looks just as I imagined," insists her husband. "I told you didn't I? I am Giles. The husband."

"How are getting along with Mrs. Etro?" asks Beatrice.

"I have never quite met anyone like her before," she answers honestly.

"You mean she scares you?" Giles asks with a bit of teasing and a bit of understanding. "She isn't exactly an oil painting is she?"

"Giles, go on now so we girls can have a little chat," Beatrice remarks.

"I should go find Noctis, shall I?" he asks her with a wink.

"Giles," Beatrice says sternly though the smile does not leave her face.

"No need to get fussy, luv," Giles remarks with a chuckle. He shrugs and smiles at the both of them before leaving them to it.

"Men. Never know when to stop," remarks Beatrice wryly. "Shall we sit?"

"Oh of course!" she cries, motioning to a chair for Beatrice before taking one across from her near the fire.

"And how are you liking Manderley?" asks Beatrice.

"It, is a little overwhelming," she says quietly.

"I am sure it is a tad much at first," comments Beatrice. She looks so at ease, much like Noctis always does and she finds herself envious of their confidence and manner. Noctis' sister, though the resemblance is hard to see, was just like him. Their features may not look exactly the same, but their countenance was the same. "How is Mrs. Etro treating you?"

"Oh, well. She handles affairs very well, but I do not think she cares too much for me."

"Understandable. She is bound to be jealous and resentful at first," Beatrice explains.

"Why would she resent me?" she asks in surprise.

"I thought Noctis would have told you," Beatrice replies in surprise. "She simply _adored_ Rebecca."

Which made sense on all levels. That creeping sensation of overwhelming dread settles over her through the rest of the conversation. Cold and icy Mrs. Etro had not been so for Rebecca. Was there no one that had not adored and loved the wife who was so tragically lost? The one who should still be in charge of this magnificent castle. Instead, there was only mousey little her who was afraid of her own shadow.

So overpowering is her anxiety that she does not remember much of the conversation with Beatrice after that insight. Not even the call for lunch is a small relief. Though, it does give her a bit of strength to carry on when she sees Noctis with Giles and Ignis. All three standing at the entrance of the dining hall for them to join. Brother and sister greet each other affectionately for a moment before they are all seated at the long table. The meal is not so scary with the addition of three more people to fill the silence with amiable chatter. Giles and Beatrice keep a flow of steady conversation going as they ate. With each course, Beatrice inquired after each servant's health and family by name, which prompted her to try her best to remember the names that she hears mentioned.

"I am eager to know what it is your wife likes to do Noctis," comments Giles, who is seated to her right.

"She sketches, a little," Noctis replies, giving her a small smile.

"Not one of those artists who paint a lamp upside down to represent a soul in torment, I hope," Giles jokes. "Strange, the things that pass for art these days."

"No, nothing like that," she laughs in answer.

"Do you ride?"

"Not very well," she answers.

"Oh but you must!" insists Giles. "There is not much else to do around here. This is lonely country here, my dear."

"I would love to learn," she admits. She really has always wanted to learn how to ride properly but had never gotten much of an occasion to.

"Do you enjoy dancing, my dear?" asks Beatrice from beside Noctis.

"I love it, but I am not very good at it, I'm afraid," she replies.

"You will have to each me," says Giles which makes her laugh.

"When are you going to start having parties here again, Noctis?" demands Beatrice in her authoritative tone. "I am sure everyone would love to meet…" She looks over at her.

"Yes, I am sure," says Noctis.

"You must!" insists Giles.

"I have not decided on any of that yet," says Noctis with another smile to her. "I would leave that up to her."

"You do not sail do you, my dear?" asks Giles, taking a bite of his pheasant.

"No, no I do not," she answers.

"Thank goodness for that!" comments Giles, who then happens to look up at Beatrice, who's face has become very stern with disapproval. "What? Oh!" Giles cries, slapping a hand over his mouth and looks guiltily at Noctis.

A quick look at a fidgeting Ignis and a suddenly somber Noctis dampens the cheerful mood of the meal. She has no idea what had triggered this and no idea how to break the sudden tension that has filled the room. That is, until Beatrice swiftly takes over the conversation once again, making her even more admirable in her eyes. If only she had the wit to do something like that. The rest of lunch passes pleasantly enough after Giles' faux pas, to which she does not understand fully. She can only assume the worst. Soon enough however, she finds herself standing behind Beatrice while the other woman fixes her hat in front of the large mirror in the library.

"You are very much in love with Noctis, aren't you." Beatrice states.

She flushes in answer with no way to voice her response.

"I can see that you do," Beatrice says, looking at her in amusement. "Can I ask you something? Why don't you style your hair? Like putting it back behind your ears? Oh no. That is much worse," the older woman critiques bluntly when she tries to follow the suggestion. She gives a shrug and reaches out to grab her purse. "I can tell by the way you dress you do not give a hoot how you look. But I do wonder that Noctis has not been at you. He is so particular about clothes." She entwines their arms and walks along beside her towards the front door.

"I do not think he notices what I wear," she says looking down at her plain garments. Noctis has never commented on anything regarding her appearance, now that she thinks about it.

"He must have changed a lot then," Beatrice says with a warm smile and giving her arm a squeeze. "Noctis can have quite a temper. He is one of those silent brooders. You can never tell what is going on in that head of his. Then when his temper flares…" she makes a whistling sound for effect. Then she gives her another warm, encouraging smile. "Though I doubt he would ever get mad at you. You seem such a pleasant thing."

"Come on old girl!" beckons Giles hastily. "We have tea at 3 o'clock."

"All right. All right, I am coming," Beatrice replies, not at all phased by her husband's need for haste.

They continue to walk arm in arm together when they reach the outside and stand beside the car. Giles rushes over to the driver's seat with a few words to Noctis.

Beatrice stops while the two men continue a short conversation to put on her gloves. "I am very sorry for asking you so many rude questions, my Dear," Beatrice apologizes with another smile. "Giles and I do wish you both will be very happy."

Beatrice's approval makes her feel like walking on air. It is such a sweet relief when everyone else has been so disapproving. That it would come from Noctis' own sister makes everything so much brighter.

"Thank you! Oh thank you, Beatrice!" she cries, giving the other woman a much needed hug.

"And I must compliment you on how Noctis looks," comments Beatrice approvingly, giving her brother an assessing glance. "We were very worried about him last year." She pats her arm affectionately. "But of course, you know all about it."

No, she does not know _anything_. Before she can admit that, Beatrice is already climbing into the cab of her car and Noctis has come to embrace her from behind with Casper barking his own farewell below them.

"Good bye!" he calls out to his sister and brother in law when they drive away. He playfully raises her hand in a half hearted wave before resting his chin on her shoulder. "Good riddance! Now we have the house all to ourselves."

She laughs at his good humor and turns her head to give him a kiss.

"Let us go take Casper on a walk and I can show you around," he suggests.

"What a lovely idea!" she says excitedly and then shyly asks. "Do you like my hair?"

"Your hair?" he asks quizzically. "Why? What is the matter with it?"

"Oh, just nothing," she replies shyly.

"How funny you are," he chuckles. "Frank! Go inside and fetch the princess a light coat would you?"

"Is a coat really necessary?" she asks, when he lays the raincoat over her shoulders a moment later.

"Yes, yes, yes. We cannot be too careful with children," he teases her invoking another giggle from her.

They are soon walking hand in hand through the garden with Casper happily bouncing and barking. He leads the way down a small path, showing how much of an expert he was at maneuvering the grounds.

"No, not that way," Noctis says sternly to Casper, only to be ignored by the determined canine.

"What is over there?" she asks curiously. It looked to be a way towards the water.

"Just some rocks and sand. Nothing of consequence," Noctis mutters in reply.

"Is that the path to the ocean?" she cries excitedly.

"Not the only path," he grumbles.

"It would be the view from the postcard I saw so long ago. Please, let's have a look," she implores him.

"Oh all right," he says reluctantly, forcing a chuckle out, but she is too much in a good humor to notice how tense he has gotten. "Just a quick glance."

Casper hops down a set of wooden stairs towards the water and makes a mad run for something hidden by a small cove.

"Casper! Not that way!" shouts Noctis angrily, before addressing her in a much gentler tone. "Have you had your look? Now we should go."

"What about Casper?" she asks, no longer able to see his fury shape.

"He knows his way back."

A whine comes from the direction where Casper disappeared.

"It sounds like he is hurt!" she cries.

Without delay, she runs towards where she heard the sound, ignoring Noctis' shout for her to stop. Around the bend, she stops short when she comes across a small shack. It sits not far from the waves, perched all alone in the sand. No lights are lit from the inside and it looked to be deserted. Casper, she notices, sits patiently at the door, waiting to be admitted inside. Walking closer, she realizes it has to be a boat house of some sorts. It looks like it has been neglected and abandoned for some time and not much to look at from the outside. Though, given how familiar Casper seemed there, it had not been _too_ long since anyone has been there. She approaches it cautious until she reaches the door where Casper sits in wait.

"Come on, Casper. What are you doing here?" she chides the dog.

The door, creeps open in response, to reveal dirty booted feet. Her gaze slowly reaches up to the face of a scruffy bearded man with ragged clothes and a sailor's cap with dull eyes and a toothless smile. She should have screamed but the never, surprisingly, does not come.

"I know that dog!" he says with a gummy grin. "He comes from the house."

"Is this your home?" she asks cautiously. He does not look dangerous but she did not want to be long in his presence.

"I wasn't doin' nuthin'," he replies in childlike reassurance. "Just stocking me seashells."

"Have you anything for me to tie him with?" she asks.

He does not reply but merely steps aside for her to enter the shack with the same blank smile on his face. She squeezes past him uncomfortably into the sectioned off entry way. His seashells and various ropes and nets are haphazardly arranged in the tight space. Stepping in further, she sees the main area which greatly contrasted the exterior and entry way of the shack. This area looked more like a luxurious living room belonging inside Manderley, rather than the insides of a decrepit old shack. She recognizes the style right away and knows exactly who had used this place for their use.

A large cushy day bed lies underneath the small windows looking out towards the water. A large tray of cigarette butts sits atop it as if someone had just been there smoking. There is a small fireplace on the far wall with a wooden chair at one side. Two lounge chairs and a lamp table sat across from it. Closer to her was a table for two, to dine on and all around the room were small vases with flowers long dried up and dead. It made her think of the Morning Room, except that no one had come to dust the cobwebs away here. This place too, looked like it was still waiting for Rebecca's return but the passage of time was more apparent.

Stepping back and away from the room, she absently snatches a small bit of rope from a small pile and goes back outside to Casper. The strange man is standing where she left him, with the same lame smile on his face. He stares at her from his clouded eyes and he looks ill at ease.

"You won't tell anything you saw me in here, will you?" he implores like a child.

"Do you live nearby?" she asks, while trying to tie the rope around Casper's collar.

"I wasn't doin' nuthing," he promises again. Those glazed eyes glance at the water. "She's gone ain't she? She's gone into the sea and ain't ever coming back."

"Yes," she answers, feeling anxious at being here in this strange place. Something about it here seems chilling, shadowed and haunting. "She is never coming back." She glances towards where she knows the room lays in wait before tugging on the rope. "Come along Casper."

Her tugs seem to finally register to Casper because he starts to lead her back the way they had come. Confidently, he takes her back to the wooden stairs that would take them back to Manderley and where Noctis was waiting.

Only, he was not waiting where she had left him. She calls out to him without answer and hurries along until she finally catches sight of him fairly running back on the path back to Manderley.

"Noctis! I am sorry to keep you waiting but I had to find something to tie Casper with," she explains breathelessly in her haste to catch up to his brisk pace.

"Come along Casper!" he snaps, almost seething in his anger.

"Why are you so angry?" she asks, feeling her heart ache at having displeased him somehow.

"I told you not to go down there." he accuses.

"Why? There was only an old shack..."

"You did not go inside, did you?"

"For a moment, but..."

"I do not want you going down there again," he growls heatedly, stopping his quick stride to whirl around to face her. The drastic change in him makes her feel so guilty suddenly. "If you had my memories, you would not go near it or even think about it!"

"Forgive me," she pleads. It strikes her, that it must have been a special place for him and Rebecca and she feels so wretched for bringing that pain back to him by intruding so. "I cannot bear to have you unhappy. Please do not be cross. I love you so much!" She cries into his chest miserably, wanting to take away his lose but not knowing how. Instead she clutches him tightly and sobs miserably.

His arms soon come around her tightly in response to her distress. "How can I be angry at you?" he asks, his voice gentle once again. He keeps one arm around her, keeping her pressed closely to his side. "Here, let me have Casper."

She lets him take hold of the rope and lays her head against his shoulder. Their cheerful walk becoming dark and silent now after his outburst at remembering _her_. She cannot blame him for getting angry. He had only wanted to protect her from the memories as much as for himself.

"Let us go home, have some tea and forget all about this," he suggests softly, kissing her forehead in reassurance.

"Yes," she sniffs, reaching instinctively into the pocket of the coat she wears for a handkerchief. She dabs her eyes with it carefully. "Yes, let us forget all about this." She is eager to do just that and return to the playful mood from before.

She takes a deep breathe, managing to smile up at him before she notices the initials embroidered in the delicate lace of the handkerchief.

_R.C._

It scrolled across the clothe, making her blood run cold at the reminder of who should _really_ be there at Noctis' side.


	10. Dissimulo

Dissimulo is Latin for, "To conceal; keep secret".

_**Chapter Ten: Dissimulo**_

_Of course, you know all about it._

Beatrice's words were a keen reminder that she did not much about her husband. His past was a shadow that he never discussed. No, his first marriage was what he did not talk about. He was rather open about all the other aspects of his life. Though she has nothing to do with the events of that part of his past, she needed to know. Yesterday's events solidified her resolve that she _needed_ to know what had happened in order to understand how she was going to help him. She desperately wanted to help him as best she could and she knew that in order to do that, she needed to do a little digging into what had happened. She needed to know more about the wife that she has replaced. Whatever the mystery, she already is aware that she will not like it. Yet, it is the not knowing that was a barrier between her and Noctis and it was eating away at the both of them. Rebecca may be dead, but she was the wall that prevented them from truly being man and wife.

She did not dare ask Noctis, however. His reaction to her venturing into the cottage yesterday was proof enough of that. All the other times his late wife was mentioned or even hinted at, a dark cloud fell over him. There was shadow that has never lifted from his eyes since she has known him. Rarely has she seen him as he should be. The kind and generous man that she loves with the dry wit and caring smile, but he was hidden behind the layers of grief that shrouded him from her. All she has had, have been snippets of him, especially in the days that they had come here to Manderley. It was there prominently the rest of the afternoon, though he had made an effort to be good company after their disastrous walk.

Asking Mrs. Etro was also a definite no. Any reason she had to avoid the head maid was good enough for her. She had not been too sad the day before to see the somewhat gloating look that had been on the older woman's face when she had seen her wearing Rebecca's raincoat and noticed the grim look on Noctis' face. Beatrice, of course, was also not an option. Noctis' sister already assumed she was privy to the events that happened during Rebecca's death and she would not give the impression that their marriage was not an open and honest one. Beatrice and Giles were the only ones who had welcomed her. She could not bear to have them think that something was amiss.

This meant that there was only one other person that she could approach on the matter. Ignis. The kind and almost shy right hand of Noctis. While she could not be entirely forward with her questions, he was her only option to get to know Rebecca and in turn, get to know more about Noctis.

She found her opportunity the next afternoon, while Noctis was away at the stables. With his schedule full, she found Ignis in his small office looking over the estate books intently. With her tentative knock, he was on his feet with a small smile in greeting.

"Good day, Ignis," she greets, walking towards his desk.

"Good day to you too," he responds with one of his genuine smiles.

"I wondered if you were serious about needing any help with anything," she offers. "I do not know a thing about balancing figures but I can at least lick the stamps."

He chuckles at her suggestion and motions for her to sit beside him at the desk.

"It is very kind of you to offer your assistance," he says, handing her a stack of bills. "If you could just fold them and place them into the envelopes, that would help a lot." He leaves her to it before looking down at the numbers in front of him again.

"I am surprised you still do everything by hand," she comments, fully impressed.

"I try to keep physical books," he replies with another shy smile. "Later, I go over everything again on the computers to see if they match. Noctis' family is very old fashioned and like to do things the old way. I'm old fashioned too."

"Nothing wrong with that," she agrees.

Not that she could have chosen before. A companion's wages had given her the simplified life of not conforming to all the new ways. It was a joy to be in such a place where it seemed time had not touched it. She has never had any use for the frills that had been abundant at such posh places like the resort where they had met.

"I was on a walk yesterday," she says trying to speak as conversationally as she can. "Casper led me to an old shack on the beach. We met an old man there.. a little unusual man."

"Excuse me," Ignis says, getting up to walk behind her to reach into the filing cabinet. "You must mean old Ben. He's harmless, I assure you. We give him odd jobs now and then when we can."

"That cottage down there looks like it is going to ruin," she comments lightly, though keenly aware of Ignis' reaction to its mention. "Why is there nothing being done about it?"

There is silence from behind her a short moment.

"I think if Noctis wanted something done about it, he would say," he finally mutters a little uneasily.

He moves to sit beside her once more but carefully keeps his eyes away from meeting hers.

"Are those all Rebecca's things down there?"

"Yes," he replies quietly, still unable to meet her eyes. "She set her things down there so that she could easily go sailing by herself whenever she wanted."

"Wasn't she afraid to go out onto the water by herself?" she asks curiously.

"She, wasn't afraid of _anything_," he answers, clearing his throat and looking down at his book again.

"How did she die?" she asks quietly.

"She went out late one night. The tide was too high and her boat capsized and sank," he replies.

Where she drowned, was left unsaid.

"Her body washed to the shore a few miles away," Ignis continues. "Noctis went down and identified the body."

"Poor Noctis," she replies, her heart going out to her husband.

"It was terrible for him," replies Ignis sadly.

Her uneasiness over the subject has her leaping to her feet and wringing her hands in agitation.

"Please forgive me for asking so many uncomfortable questions, Ignis. It's not that I am morbidly curious," she cries in her distress. "I just feel at such a disadvantage not knowing anything about anything. For being so plain and talentless and nothing like she was. Every moment I am reminded of what she had and I lack."

He also rises to his feet and approaches her. "You mustn't think that. I can't tell you how glad I am that you married Noctis," he says kindly. "None of us want to live in the past. Noctis most of all. There is more that a man wants in a wife than the superficial things. There is also kindness and goodness and, if you'd permit me to say, modesty. That all combined means more to a man than anything else."

"That is very kind of you to say," she says, though not believing his words of reassurance.

"It's your responsibility, you know," he continues on with his kind smile. "To bring us away from the past and towards the future with you."

She manages a weak smile and obeys when he gestures for her to sit back down again, but her curiosity is still not satisifed.

"Ignis," she says, waiting until he returns her look before asking what she really wants to ask. "What was Rebecca _really _like?"

He looks down uneasily at the desk. "I suppose," he hesitates before glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "She was the most beautiful creature I ever saw."

That hesitant, yet entirely truthful statement was all that needed to be said. Afterwards, it was all she could do to keep pace with Ignis as he paid each bill through her rising helplessness. He immediately sensed his blunder and had tried his best to lift her spirits, but the fact of the matter was, in that one confession, he had told her the same thing everyone else has. That she did not belong with Noctis. She is not angry at Ignis' statement. For he had not said it to be cruel. She was not a great beauty, this she already knew. That did not mean that she would not _try_ to improve herself now. Remembering Beatrice's flippant statement about how she could already tell by the plainness of her clothes that she did not give a hoot how she looked, she knew she needs to start giving a hoot. Her wardrobe thus far had been out of necessity and practicality. As Noctis' wife, she needed to set aside that and dress accordingly.

Without having a clue as to what was fashionable, she referred to the only thing that was readily available as a reference. She referred to the top fashion magazines as her guide. It was an all new thing for her. She had never bothered doing more than leafing through an issue while waiting for something else, knowing she could never afford nor need to keep up with such things as trends. Now, given her much elevated position, she needed to know all about these things. This, after giving herself a headache looking through the various articles, she chose a lovely evening gown to wear for dinner from an "exclusive" boutique in town.

The dress came via special courier post haste, when the boutique realized that it was the new Princess as the client. It came in a lovely, meticulously wrapped box that looked almost too beautiful to open. Then, under sheets of delightfully colored tissue paper, was the elegant gown she had picked. It was the finest garment she had ever gotten herself and she was two parts thrilled and one part intimidated by such finery. The dress was just as eye catching as in the photograph. Yards and yards of rich black velvet cascaded down the length with a full bodice and medium sized straps for sleeves. It was in no way daring and the dress was made to the measurements she gave them, but it was clear that the design of the dress was for someone more statuesque in form. Even the bodice was made for someone a little more buxom. Still, it was the fanciest dress she had ever owned and she was excited to wear it out for Noctis to see. She even made a point of sweeping back her hair in a more stylish fashion to go along with her new dress.

It is just before dinner is to be served when she descends the stairs to meet Noctis in his study. Filled with nervous, yet excited, energy she enters his study to see him with his back to her. He looks to be fiddling with a projection monitor, but he is already dressed in his customary dinner jacket and trousers. Even from behind she thinks he looks as dashing and elegant as he always does.

"Good evening, Noctis," she greets in her most sultry voice.

"Hello," he greets absently while still tinkering with the machine without looking up. "The footage from our honeymoon finally arrived. I thought we might watch it before..." he trails off as he catches sight of her. "What on earth have you done to yourself?"

"I ordered a new dress from the city," she replies with a smile. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not," he says, looking at her more in a perplexed way than in an impressed sort of way that she had been hoping for. "Are you sure that sort of thing is right for you? It does not seem your type at all."

He was right of course, but still. "I thought _you _might like it," she says quietly.

"And what have you done to your hair?" he exclaims in surprise. Then his faces changes all at once and he chuckles uneasily. "Oh dear, oh dear, I am sorry," he says walking towards her and kissing her affectionately on the forehead. She feels more like a petted child than his wife at the gesture and it does nothing to ease her embarrassment at not having impressed him. "You look lovely, lovely! It is very nice, for a change," he finishes.

His sheepishness only makes her feel worse and she deflates onto the arm of one of the plush chairs besides the projector.

"Should we look at the film now?" he suggests.

"Of course. I would love to see them," she says, smoothing out her skirts and trying not to fidget.

As the film plays, she is taken back to those precious moments of their honeymoon where they had both been so carefree together. It had just been him and her and nothing else to bother them. Those short few days were the happiest of her life and seeing them caught on film only reminded her of why she was here.

"Look at you!" boasts Noctis proudly as they watch her image on screen. "Won't our grandchildren just be delighted when they see how lovely you were."

His words, spoken so naturally, warms her so. That he should think her lovely means so much to her when she had just been so down about that very thing. That her husband thought her lovely regardless, plain as she was, to be lovely makes her feel so delighted. With each image, both them laugh at each other together and the antics from their happy time.

"I wish our honeymoon could have lasted forever, Noctis," she wishes wistfully.

Then the images are abruptly cut off.

"Oh dash it! Hang it," cries Noctis with a grumble. "Something must have gone wrong with the… let me take a look at it again. I must have…," he continues to mutter as he clicks on the lamp to stare at what had gone wrong.

He looks so adorable in his frustration that she cannot help but giggle at him. They are both chattering away with each other when there is a knock at the door.

"Come in!" calls out Noctis, still intent on the machine.

Frank opens the door tentatively. "Your majesty, excuse me. But might I have a word with you sir?" the kindly Butler asks uneasily.

The uneasiness in his tone alerts Noctis, who suddenly straightens his shoulders and looks up from the projector.

"What is it, Frank?" he asks, coming around the machine to stand beside her.

"It's about Robert, your Highness," explains Frank nervously. "There has been an altercation between him and Mrs. Etro."

"Oh dear. This is serious," comments Noctis, urging him to go on.

"It seems one of the china ornaments in the Morning Room has gone missing," continues Frank. "Mrs. Etro accused Robert of stealing it, but Robert denies it most emphatically, sir."

"A china ornament?" asks Noctis. "Those are one of our treasures, isn't it?"

"Yes, your Majesty," replies Frank. "Robert is very upset."

"I would assume so," states Noctis. "I am sure Robert did not do it, but tell Mrs. Etro to get to the bottom of this."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Frank answers and dismisses himself with a bow.

"I am not sure why they have come to me for these things," comments Noctis wryly, returning to the other side of the machine to continue his fixing. "They should going to you for this, sweetheart."

As mistress of the house, it indeed, _was_ her duty. Though that is not what has her anxious now.

"Noctis, I wanted to you tell you… but I, er, I forgot," she stammers. "But _I_ broke the china ornament."

"You broke it?" Noctis asks incredulously. "Now why didn't you just say so while Frank was here?" He seems more annoyed at her lack of prompt confession instead of losing one of their "treasures". Which makes her even more ashamed that he had to hear about it this way.

"I did not want Frank to think me a fool," she admits feebly.

"He will think you even more a fool now," states Noctis. "Now you have to explain it to Mrs. Etro."

"Oh no!" she cries, jumping to her feet in fright. "Noctis, you do it. I'll just go upstairs…"

"Don't be ridiculous, darling. One would think you were afraid of them."

At that, there is another knock on the door before Frank and Mrs. Etro enter the study.

Noctis shakes his head, bending again to look at the projector while she tries her best not to flee the room at the sight of the imposing head maid.

"This was just a big misunderstanding, Mrs. Etro," Noctis explains quickly without even looking up. "Apparently the Princess broke the china ornament and forgot to say anything about it."

Mrs. Etro's beaty eyes turn to regard her silently.

"I am very sorry," she manages to say without shaking too badly. "I never meant to get Robert, or anyone, into trouble."

"Is it possible to repair the ornament, Madam?" Mrs. Etro asks in her clipped speech. No reassurances, as always. Nothing warm in her at all. Nor any understanding.

"No, it.. shattered into many pieces," she replies.

"What did you do with the pieces?" Noctis asks, leaning over to her with an amused smile on his lips.

"I hid them in one of the drawers in the writing desk," she confesses.

"It appears the Princess thought you were going to send her to prison, Mrs. Etro," teases Noctis good naturedly. "Now that, that's sorted, someone tell Robert to dry his tears."

"I will apologize to Robert, of course," states Mrs. Etro. "But in the future, it would be appropriate if the Princess told me before…"

"Yes, yes, yes," Noctis says dismissively. "That will be all Mrs. Etro. Thank you."

He goes on about adjusting the projector while Mrs. Etro and Frank leave the study silently. Not before Mrs. Etro gives her another one of her cold, observing glances that leaves her shaken.

"There, I think I have it now," he states, clicking the lamp off and continuing to play the images smoothly on the silk screen.

All her previous delight at reliving the happy memories is gone with her unease.

"I am awfully sorry, darling," she says. "Mrs. Etro must be furious with me."

"Hang Mrs. Etro," replies Noctis with a small chuckle. "You act more like a schoolgirl than you do the Mistress of the house."

"I know I do," she admits sadly. "It's just that… I am so uncomfortable. I try my best every day, but it's not easy when everyone is always looking at me like I am some prized cow."

"What does it matter what they think?" he asks absently, while their images continue to play. "You must understand that life in Manderley is the only thing that holds any interest around here."

"What a slap in the eye it must have been to them then," she says resentfully. "I suppose that's why you married me. Because I was dull and there would not be any gossip about me."

"Gossip?" Noctis snaps sharply. His body is suddenly blocking the images and his face is a stern mask. "What do you mean by that?"

The swift change in his entire demeanor startles her and any resentment and anger vanishes into anxiety at the harshness on his face.

"What is it? Why do you look at me like that?" she asks in a plea to put that dark look away. "What have I said?"

Just like that, he lets out a breath and snaps the lamp back on while turning off the projector. "It was not a very attractive thing to say, was it?" he asks in a low, almost hurt tone.

"No, it wasn't," she replies quietly, because they had been thoughtless and cruel. "They were hateful."

He moves to stand in front of her, watching her with sad contemplative eyes. All traces of his previous anger gone.

"I wonder if I did a very selfish thing in marrying you," he confesses softly.

"Why do you say that?"

He places a hand under her chin to get a better look at her face. "You do not get any fun. You should have married someone who was free. Someone who had less baggage with him and was a better companion."

"But we _are_ companions," she insists to comfort him.

Only he does not look comforted at all by her statement. He looks even more sad.

"Are we? I do not know," he admits, sounding defeated and his eye search her face intently. "I am very difficult to live with."

"No!" she cries urgently. "You are not difficult at all. You are easy, very easy. Our marriage is a success is it not? We are happy. Terribly so?"

He lets out another long sigh and walks to the other side of the study, keeping his back to her.

Tears build in her eyes at seeing this rejection from him _too_. "If you do not think we are happy, it would be better if you did not pretend," she says hopelessly, her heart breaking inside. "I can go away."

She waits a long moment for him to tell her not to go.

He says nothing.

"Why won't you answer me?" she pleads to his back.

"How can I answer you? When I do not even know the answer to that myself?" he asks, turning around and walking back to the projector. "Happiness is something I know nothing about." He lingers on the lamp switch giving her another forlorn look before continuing the play of images. "If you say we are happy, then we shall leave it at that."

The lamp snaps off with a finality of that statement and the pictures start to play once again. Tears trickle down her cheeks at the helplessness of his despair.

"Look," he says softly, motioning to an image of them together. "This is when we were on our last bit of film and I left the camera on."

It was such a happy scene. So picturesque and perfect. Both of them are sitting on a patch of grass together. Noctis is speaking, though you cannot hear his words while she sits pressed against his side and looking at him with open adoration. They look so carefree and blissful, content to only to be together and enjoy the moment. So different than how they are now.


	11. Congressus

Congressus is Latin for, "a meeting".

_**Congressus**_

The following morning, there was a note left on her bedside table from Noctis to greet her.

_"Off to take care of some matters regarding the estate in the city. Though I think this break from me is welcome." – Noctis_

How wrong he was. She cannot help but think it a rejection because of the events the night before. What she _really_ wanted, what she has always wanted, was Noctis. Just Noctis. All of everything else she could do without, gladly. She had never wanted much so none of that other stuff mattered. The only reason for her to be here and to try so hard, was so that she could be with _him_. To see him taking a day away from her is a fierce blow. How could he not know that she would not have married him otherwise? That he did not even realize that this has had her in tears ever since she had read the note. She is crying still when one of the maids, Hilda, brings in her tea sandwiches on a freestanding tray.

Upon hearing the door opening, she turns away from the older maid's eyes to hide how fitfully she has been weeping and wipes her eyes surreptitiously with her own handkerchief. She watches from the corner of her eyes as Hilda goes about setting the tray carefully in front of her. Feeling the other woman too close for comfort, she rises to cross the length of the Morning Room to stare out of the windows behind the writing desk. The view affords her a direct line of sight to the West Wing, making the small movement of someone closing a window on the third story obvious.

"Hilda," she says, without turning away from the sight. "The West Wing. Nobody uses it anymore do they?"

"No Madam," Hilda answers quickly. "Not since the death of the Princess."

Then who would be up there? Without waiting on Hilda to finish setting up her tea, she quietly leaves the Morning Room to investigate. On quiet feet she almost makes it to the stairway before she hears voices from the top of the stairs and quickly ducks in to the library instead.

"I must say all this sneaking around makes me feel like a criminal," comments a male voice she has never heard before. He sounds amused and a little bit chiding. His footsteps are heavy, followed by a lighter step down the stairs.

"It is best you not come back again, Mr. Jack," replies Mrs. Etro's voice softly. "She is in the Morning Room. If you go out this way, she won't see you."

"Ah yes. We must not disturb Cinderella, should we?" he jokes. "Oh well, too-da-loo Ettie."

The sound of the front door closing reverberates back to her and Casper lets out a whine at her feet.

"Quiet Casper," she whispers, used to his odd appearances here and there, before hesitating a moment before taking a step towards the…

"Looking for me?" states that same amused, male voice loudly from behind her.

She whirls around to see the man leaning against one of the large open windows and lets out a squeak.

"Sorry," he chuckles. "I did not mean to frighten you."

With a happy bark, Casper rushes towards the stranger and demands to be petted. Which the stranger does, most affectionately.

"There you are now Casper," he says, dotting on the adorable canine. "At least someone in the family is happy to see me." She takes that moment to observe him distantly, if not all together perplexed at his blatant familiarity with Manderley and why he was being so secretive.

He is tall and broad shouldered, handsome in that sly scoundrel sort of way. The kind that knew how to charm with a smile and always had a bit of mischief in their eyes whenever they looked at you. He is dressed rather stylishly and more daringly than Noctis' more elegant way. He might have been the same age as Noctis but you could see the world of difference between the two. She is not sure what to make of him and is still deciding when Mrs. Etro enters the library beside her.

"Ettie, all your precautions were for naught," he comments sardonically, making a show of reaching into his breast pocket and lighting a cigarette. Then he points to her. "The _mistress_ of the house was hiding behind the door."

"I did not know who it was," she states, waiting for him to answer that unspoken question.

"And how is old Noctis these days?"

"He is doing very well, thank you," she says, not liking the tone of his question.

"How good for him," he states, though he does not sound very glad of it.

"Ettie, why don't you introduce me to the bride?" he suggests eagerly.

"This is Mr. Favell, Madam," states Mrs. Etro.

"How do you do?" she states by way of introduction.

"How do _you_ do?" he replies, easily hopping through the open window to shake her hand.

"Won't you stay for tea?" she offers to be polite though she makes sure not to keep her hand in his for too long.

"I've been invited for tea Ettie," he boasts a bit triumphantly. "And I've a mind to accept it."

She does not turn to look at Mrs. Etro but Mr. Favell shrugs at whatever her nonverbal response is.

"Yes, I suppose it's best if I went on my way," he turns to speak to Casper. "We musn't lead the new bride astray, should we, Casper? Pity, when we were getting along so well and all." He tsks in mild disappointment and then shrugs, making his way back to the window. "Oh!" He says, turning to her again. "I wondered if you would be so kind as to not mention your seeing me to your husband. You see, he doesn't exactly approve of me."

"All right," she agrees, not at all ready to upset Noctis again about anything anyway.

"That is very sporting of you," Favell compliments with a grin that looked too practiced to be genuine. That untrustworthy glint in his eye.

It made her decidedly uneasy, but she did not want to be rude when he was being so friendly.

"I wish I had a bride of three months waiting for me at home," he laments dramatically. Then he hops right back out the window in a way that seemed too, again, practiced for any gentleman. "But I am but a lonely bachelor."

"Good bye," she bids, not getting too close to the window, when he turns to her as if reminded of something.

"I know what was missing in our introduction," he says, leaning in as if to impart a secret to her. "You see, I am Rebecca's favorite _cousin_." He has an odd twinkle in his eye when he states his relation, but she is too bothered by his reference to Rebecca to make much note of it. She is only more determined not to mention him to Noctis. "Too-da-loo!" He bids before disappearing.

She blinks several times after he is gone, unsure of how to process his strange appearance in the house, in the West Wing of all places. It is in her to ask Mrs. Etro for more information but finds that the older woman has vanished herself. The question that immediately comes to mind is _what_ this Mr. Favell and Mrs. Etro were doing in Rebecca's room. What was in that room anyway? Now, more than ever, she feels the need to face the one room in the house she has not dared to enter yet. Perhaps she could find answers there.

Steeling her resolve, she climbs slowly up the steps that would take her to the entrance of those chambers that she thought, no one ventured in. None of the servants had entered it to clean. Never, in the time that she has lived here, had she seen Noctis even look in this direction either. She needed to face whatever was behind these doors. So, she opens one of the double doors and steps into the epicenter of Rebecca's world.

The room is as vast as it is broad. High vaulted ceilings with a grand crystal chandelier floated above plush couches in a little sitting area. White fur rugs are laid tastefully along the floors and a long, elegant, white chiffon curtain separates the sitting area from the main bedroom area that dominated the rest of the space. A large bed with silky satin sheets lay against the right wall beside a series of midsized windows. The same windows that were visible from the Morning Room. To the right was a fainting couch and beside it an entrance to a wardrobe closet and beyond that a bathroom. Even from where she was in the middle of the room, she could see the large sunken tub that looked more like a small pool than a place to bathe. Finally, at the far end, in front of her, was an ornate vanity full of cosmetics and combs, with the view of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the sea. Her hand idly touches a brush and she startles away from it. The bedroom, as the Morning Room, looked in readiness for Rebecca's return. She almost expected Rebecca to come out of the bath and ask her what she was doing here, the other woman's presence is so strong. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature permeates her bones as she stands taking it all in.

"Do you require anything, Madam?" Mrs. Etro's clipped voice nearly scares her out of her skin.

She turns to see the chilling silhouette of the head maid beyond the separating curtain, before it is pulled aside to reveal the stern figure. Those cold black eyes stare at her in that assessing way that always made her feel lacking.

"I…I noticed a window open and …." She tries to explain.

"There was no window to close," Mrs. Etro states knowingly. "You just wanted to come up here, didn't you?" A pause as she walks closer. "You always wanted to see this room, haven't you? Why did you not ask me to show it you? I waited every day for you to ask."

She swallows thickly as the older woman motions towards the mirrored closet that she had spied earlier.

"I keep all her things exactly as she kept them," Mrs. Etro explains, her voice the most touched with emotion she has ever heard. "Her and the Prince were always invited to all the most elegant parties. _Everyone_ loved her and everyone wanted her to be at their party. I used to wait up all night, no matter how late and help her get ready for bed. She would undress here and enter her bath, telling me about all the people she had see and met."

She walks her toward one of the mirrored doors. "You would like to see her wardrobe, wouldn't you?" she asks in a voice that seemed eager to share.

She can only nod wordlessly, powerless to do anything else.

With a flourish, Mrs. Etro opens the door and reveals an entire line of meticulously hung garments of various styles and fabrics. Those pale hands grasp a hanger with a mink coat and runs the furred sleeve along her equally pale cheek before running it across her own.

"Beautiful isn't it?" she asks her. "It was a gift from the Prince. He was _always_ buying her expensive gifts, all year round." She carefully re-hangs the coat and closes the door gently before walking to the other wall and opens a series of spiral drawers. "Her undergarments were sewn by the nuns in the convent. Have you ever seen such lovely pieces?" Mrs. Etro seems to marvel at them herself before re-closing each drawer quietly. "After her bath, she would walk over here to the vanity," she motions for her to follow with her narration and sit upon the bench in front of the mirror.

She finds herself sitting on the bench despite her fears and listens to the chilling re-telling.

"I see you've touched her brush," Mrs. Etro clucks her tongue and moves the brush the half inch to the left from it must have been before. "There now. Just as she always left it."

She can feel tears gathering at her eyes as she thinks of all the things that differed between her and Noctis' first wife and fear. Fear that she was in way over her head.

"Then she would say, 'Go on Ettie,' and I would brush each section of her hair a hundred strokes at a time. Then when I was done she would turn to me and say, 'Good night Ettie'."

Cold hands urge her to rise and guide her towards the side of the bed.

"Then she would walk over to her bed." Those boney fingers pull against a silk pillow sleeve with an elaborate "R" stitched in the middle. "I made this for her myself," Mrs. Etro tells her, before pulling out a black, transparent nightgown made of silk. "Have you ever seen anything so delicate?" Those black eyes stare mesmerized and in awe of the nightgown and carefully places her hand between the sheer material. "Look, you can see my hand through it."

Noctis' words from before come back to haunt her. "_Promise __me __never __to __wear __black __satin__…_" A black gown such as this was what she had pictured that day and she knows now that he must have pictured _this_ gown in particular. No wonder he had asked her never to wear something to this likeness. He would see Rebecca in her stead.

The thought makes her feel queasy and sick. She cannot take being in this room any longer. Tears rush down her cheeks and she rushes towards the door.

"You wouldn't think she had been gone for so long, would you?" asks Mrs. Etro from behind her, halting her from opening the door.

She presses her back to it helplessly as the other woman approaches to stand just in front of her.

"Sometimes, when I'm walking down the corridor, I fancy I hear her just behind me. That quick, light step. I wouldn't mistake it anywhere. Not just in here, but in all the rooms of the house. I can almost hear her now." She looks at her with an almost demented gaze. "Do _you_ think the dead come back to watch the living?"

"I don't believe it," she cries, cringing away from that beady stare.

"Sometimes, I wonder if she comes back to Manderley. Maybe to watch _you_ and the Prince while you are together."

The image of Rebecca watching her and Noctis at night together terrifies her.

"You look tired," Mrs. Etro observes. "Why don't you stay here and lie down for a bit. You can listen to the sea. How soothing it is." Her head cocks to the side as if to listen herself. The craze look in her eyes is eery as she urges her to listen to the sounds of the ocean.

So distracted does the other woman seem that she takes advantage and makes her escape. Chills race through her, but she forces herself to run back to the warmth of the fire in the Morning Room. Once there, she stands before the flames and rubbing her arms to get rid of the icy cold that Mrs. Etro's behavior has stolen into her bones. Before long, she finds herself standing in front of the writing desk and staring at the emblazoned "R" that marked everything there. Rebecca's mark was _everywhere_.She is not sure how much time passes as she stares at that initial through tear blurred eyes. When she does come back to herself, she shakes her head and grabs hold of the house phone to tell Hilda to have Mrs. Etro come and see her.

Then, she proceeds to open all the drawers and begins dumping all the old RSVPs and stationery addressed to Rebecca. Among the pile, she comes across an invitation to a costume ball addressed to Jack Favell. His response on the RSVP written in the corner sounds just as cheeky as he had been in person. It gives her an idea though. An opportunity to prove her worth. Not just to the servants, but to _everyone,_ including Noctis. She looks up then to see Mrs. Etro smoothly enter the room. The lady's stoic features no longer glazed and maniacal. There is only the cool disdain that is usually on her face when she looks at her.

"Mrs. Etro," she says, standing straight and tall. "I want you to get rid of all these things." She gestures to the invites, stationary and other things now scattered along the desk.

"But these things belong to the Princess," objects the older woman showing a vulnerability in stating so.

"_I_ am the Princess," she states, finding the strength to sound authoritative and strong for the first time.

Mrs. Etro looks taken aback at her uncharacteristic sternness.

"As you wish," Mrs. Etro finally responds. It is the first time she has seen the woman look at a loss. "I shall give the instruction."

The distant sound of a honking horn signals the return of Noctis just then.

At last!

She rushes to the door but stops once she reaches the head maid.

"Mrs. Etro, I have decided not to mention Mr. Favell's visit to the Prince. In fact, I would prefer to forget everything that happened here this afternoon," she states with a note of finality in her tone and then leaves before she can be given a response.

Noctis is just making his way inside when she rushes toward the foyer and she dashes up the short steps to him and flings herself into his arms.

"Noctis you have been gone all day!" she cries, happily clinging to his neck.

"You are choking me!" he laughs, hugging her back in return. He leans back to get a good look at her. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Oh, I have been thinking," she states, leading him towards the library, but still clinging to him fiercely.

"What would you want to do that for?" he teases, giving her a squeeze.

Once they enter the library, she twirls them around together in a small dance. "Darling," she says, full of nervous excitement. "Can't we have a costume ball here at Manderley?"

He lets go of her to give her a questioning look. "Now who put that in your mind? Has Beatrice been at you?" he asks.

"No, not at all," she assures. "I want to have one here to show everyone that Manderley is just the same as it always was."

He continues to look at her quizzically, wondering at the change in her usually timid nature around a lot of people. "You know you would have to play hostess to hundreds of people. Then the kids from the city will turn this place into a nightclub," he warns, sitting down on the edge of a chair. He does not look against the idea, only puzzled as to why she seems so insistent.

"Oh but I want to," she pleads, smiling up at him when he stands at her approach to stay near him. "I have never organized such a thing before but I can learn. I promise you will not be ashamed of me."

He looks thoughtful for a moment, weighing everything together in his mind in that way that she always finds adorable. She responds to his look with another enthusiastic smile.

"Oh all right, if that is what you want," he concedes.

"Oh thank you, darling!" she cries, hugging him fiercely again, causing him to laugh.

"You are going to need Mrs. Etro to help you," he suggests.

"I do not need Mrs. Etro to help me," she replies, lifting her chin stubbornly. "I can do it myself."

"Okay, my sweet," he chuckles, giving her chin a reassuring squeeze.

She is so happy to have his permission to host a party that she hugs him again. He laughs at her again, his gaze adoring and keeps his arms around her waist while she keeps her hands entwined behind his neck. She just wants to keep him close. With him back, she feels so much more at ease and happy.

"What will you go as?" she asks.

"I never dress up for costume parties," he insists. "It is my one privilege as host."

She giggles at his act of rebellion.

"What will _you_ go as?" he asks. "Alice in Wonderland with a ribbon in your hair?"

"No," she laughs. "I am going to design a costume all by myself and give you the surprise of your life!" She proclaims, hugging him fiercely again.

The loud, free laugh that comes out of his chest in response makes her feel on top of the world.


	12. Proventus

Proventus is Latin for, "A growing up".

_**Chapter Twelve: Proventus**_

Despite her lack of experience and overall timid nature, she has found great enjoyment in planning the costume party in the following month. The servants, as a whole, seemed delighted to be having such an event hosted at the house once again and have been very eager and ready to offer her any assistance. She had given herself this month to organize and plan over this elaborate effort and finds that she likes all the work. It has given her something to do rather than being idle.

Not only has she been listening to the various tips and pieces of advice from the staff, she had a little bit of her own experience in accompanying Mrs. Harper to use as guides. So she was not completely clueless as to what is to be expected. She did not want anything too outlandish, but wanted to make things just enough to convey that none of Manderley's opulence was going to waste simply housing her and Noctis. They, neither of them had anything to be ashamed of in their marriage and they needed to show this. Manderley was just as beautiful as it has always been and should be seen. The stunning estate should be showcased and appreciated and she is determined for this party to be a success. All in all, it has been both a learning experience and a bonding experience, as it has allowed her to get to know everyone better. Now she felt more intimately acquainted with the staff and therefore more comfortable around them. It also gave her a glimpse of what exactly was involved with the upkeep of such a grand house. This made it easier for her to make any needed instruction as to her preferences. Which, of course, were not many since she was not particular but at least she was becoming more at ease with her position.

Between all the many meetings for arranging and organizing, she has been sketching away on possible costume ideas for herself. She thought of all her favorite heroines growing up and had thought she had plenty of options to choose from, from just her imagination. However, once she had drawn them on paper, they had not been quite right. One option had been a medieval gown with a high coned headdress, which she thought would be too ostentatious. Definitely not a good first impression and would convey a bit of conceit on her part. She wanted something empowering and feminine. The latter one was realized when she found herself sketching a rendition of Joan of Arc. She had imagined her grand entrance being interrupted when she clumsily fell down the stairs under the weight of all that chain mail. Besides, all that metal would not look appropriate beside Noctis' usual elegant tuxedo either.

Noctis, who has been so indulging and obliging through all these preparations and overall utter madness of planning. He would watch her as she rushed about with a mixture of pride and adoration at her efforts. Though he did not offer to help, he was always there for her when she had a question. During their afternoon walks together, he listened attentively to her various ideas and would offer his input on them. She made sure not to overburden him with the trivial things involving the party, but he never discouraged her from telling him all about what she was doing. It was very much like he had been when they had been getting to know each other. He is still that ever attentive ear for her and never made her feel silly for saying what she did. Once or twice he had tried to get her to tell him what costume she would be wearing and she always responded with a warm smile and a chiding admonishment to be patient.

On one afternoon, she was just sketching a few more ideas while lying idly on her bed when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she summoned, adding another stroke with her pencil.

As the person entered, she looked up to find Mrs. Etro standing there and she sits up straight at the other woman's slow approach.

"Robert found these sketches in the library, Madam," Mrs. Etro explained, holding out a few of her earlier rejects. "Had you wished for them to be thrown out?"

"I did," she responded. "Those were just some ideas for my costume for the ball."

"Has the prince not suggested anything?"

"No, I want to surprise him," she replied. "I do not want him to know anything about it."

"I thought," Mrs. Etro offered with an uncertain smile. "You might take a look at some of the old family portraits down the hall for some ideas."

"You mean the gallery at the top of the stairs? I shall go take a look," she said, jumping off her bed and headed towards the line of portraits that immortalized Noctis' ancestors.

"This one right here," said Mrs. Etro, leading her towards a particularly lovely portrait. "I have heard the Prince comment that it was among his favorites. It is his great grandmother."

The old Queen was wearing a summer dress. White lace with off the shoulder sleeves and full skirts. A time of stiff, full circle petticoats and boned corsets with a large straw hat and a vibrant satin sash around the waist to showcase the whiteness of the dress. It reminded her of Scarlett O'Hara. The design was feminine and flattering and all together perfect for her.

"How lovely! Thank you, Mrs. Etro," she said excitedly, turning away from the portrait to smile at the older woman in gratitude. Only, to see that Mrs. Etro had disappeared without a word.

That the older woman was a complete enigma to her was the only justification she could come up with for that abrupt departure. She had not been able to give the head maid's actions much thought afterward, however, because her focus had been the construction of the dress and ordering the various materials needed in order to complete it. Then finally, the night of the ball has come.

The entire day saw her in a flutter of nervous energy. Everything was coming together just wonderfully and a happy aura surrounded the house as decorations were placed and trays upon trays of scrumptious delicacies were laid out upon freshly pressed linen. She has not been down to see the finishing touches but trusts that the servants would know how to handle everything to satisfaction. It was time to get her costume on and prepare herself to look the part of mistress of the house. A feat that has been painstakingly long considering a few pieces needed to be sewn together _after_ being placed upon her body.

Piece upon piece with layer upon layer of the dress has come on. It has easily been the longest she has ever taken to get ready. Her maid, Helen is currently sewing the last of the silk flowers onto her skirts while she fiddled with the position of her wide brimmed straw hat on her head.

"You look absolutely beautiful, Madam," Helen says with a sincere and excited smile on her young face.

"Do you really think so?" she asks, fidgeting in the mirror.

A curt knock at the door sounds before Beatrice's stern voice comes from the other side.

"It's Beatrice! Do you need any of my help, Dear?" Beatrice asks, before opening the door.

"No Beatrice!" she cries. "Do not come in, please! I will be down directly."

"Oh, well, hurry dear," admonishes Beatrice. "The guests will be arriving soon."

"I will!" she reassures her sister in law and then waits for the sounds of retreating footsteps before asking Helen for her fan. "Are you sure I look all right?" she asks, taking one last look in the mirror.

"You are going to shock them all with your loveliness, Madam," exclaims Helen.

She smiles gratefully at the younger girl, grateful for her company yet again. It has been a comfort to have someone as unfamiliar to Manderley as she, to tend to her. With one last smile, she lifts up the front of her skirts and makes her way to the staircase. On her way down, she gets a chance to gaze upon everyone before they see her and she feels her excitement build.

Noctis is dressed in his tuxedo. Miles is dressed as a caveman. Beatrice is dressed as a viking with a long blond wig with pigtails trailing behind her while Ignis is dressed as a university graduate. They all have their backs to her in conversation but her eyes are only focused upon Noctis' broad back as she comes up behind him.

"Good evening, Prince Noctis," she greets nervously.

He turns at the sound of her voice to look at her and his body goes completely rigid. The ready smile vanishes. The color drains from his face as he continues to look at her in shock.

Giles lets out a gasp of stunned surprise while Beatrice gasps one word, "Rebecca!"

At the mention of the name, Noctis' face flushes red and he looks positively furious.

"Why are you wearing _that_ dress?" he demands in a dangerously low voice.

"What's wrong with it?" she asks through a strangled throat.

"You need to get out of that dress," he seethes.

"What is it?" she pleads, trembling in dismay at the dark expression on his face.

"She can't change now," Beatrice protests for her sake.

"The guests are arriving now," adds Giles.

"What will she wear?" asks Beatrice.

"I do not care what she wears so long as she is not wearing _that_," Noctis replies in a voice choked with anger.

She has never seen him look so angry and feels an overwhelming sense of despair at making him so. Without another word and to prevent everyone from seeing her crying, she whirls around quickly to race back up the stairs in humiliation. Once atop the landing, she happens to turn and catch the black figure of Mrs. Etro walking into Rebecca's room on the other side. Her own anger boils inside her at the sight of the source of her turmoil. The very person responsible for her angering Noctis so. This was not to be born. This had to stop. Her hat falls from her head as she follows behind the head maid into the room. She throws the door to Rebecca's room open to find Mrs. Etro carefully arranging fresh flowers in a crystal vase.

"I watched you go down," Mrs. Etro states without compunction. "Just as I watched _her_ a year ago. Even in the same dress you could not even compare." There is no hiding the disdain in her voice.

"You knew!" she accuses with a shout. "You knew she wore this dress and yet you deliberately suggested I wear it. Why do you hate me so? What have I ever done to deserve your scorn?"

"Because you tried to take her place," Mrs. Etro accuses just as venomously. "You let him marry you. I have seen his face, his eyes. I used to hear him late at night, pacing the floors restlessly night after night missing _her_, wanting _her_." With each word, Mrs. Etro creeps towards her, causing her to back away towards the side of the bed closest to the windows. "You thought you could be the Princess, but even dead, she is stronger than you. Nobody ever got the better of her, nobody! In the end, it was not a man or a woman that had gotten her, but the sea!"

"I don't want to know!" she cries out in heartbreak. "I don't want to know!" She finds herself falling onto the side of the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

Through all her efforts to make tonight such a completely success, she has failed again, astronomically. She has failed herself. She has failed Noctis. Right now she could die from her misery.

"You are overwrought, Madam," Mrs. Etro states calmly. "I have opened a window for you. The sea air will do you some good."

As if on cue, the suggestion makes her lungs expand in agreement. So she slowly lifts herself back up and staggers towards the wide open window to take a deep breath of sea air. The night air is cold and moist. A thick veil of fog makes everything outside look shrouded and far away. Dreary. Like her life. The hazy stretch looks so daunting and overwhelming. She tries to picture how her life will be after this. The endless gossip of her failure this night that would follow. How would she ever face Noctis again? How could she ever live up to the expectations placed upon her? She slumps against the window frame in defeat and tries to continue breathing.

"Why don't you go?" suggests Mrs. Etro. "Why don't you leave Manderley?"

She had suggested that very thing to Noctis and he had not tried to persuade her to stay.

"He doesn't _need_ you," insists Mrs. Etro, her voice edging closer. "He doesn't _love_ you. He just wants to be alone again, alone with _her_."

She could not argue that point at all. Looking down at the stone steps far below her, she begins to wonder if it was just easier to fall towards them.

"You don't have anything to live for, do you?" points out Mrs. Etro. "Look down there. It would be so easy wouldn't it? To just let it all go. Why don't you? Go on. Don't be afraid."

How easy it would all be if she did. All she had to do was lean further. It was so very tempting. The hypnotic way in which the other woman beckons her to jump from the window is very hard to resist. She feels the air around her seem to wish her to jump from the window too. What else did she honestly have left? Slowly, she leans even further out. She is almost there when a loud exploding boom rocks through the thick fog and a distress flare lights up the murky sky.

"Shipwreck!" someone shouts from down below, followed by screams and the sounds of many rushing bodies.

Her anxiety now forgotten, her eyes frantically search the many rushing bodies through the thick fog and finally spies Frank helping Noctis into a thick coat.

"Noctis!" she cries, but he cannot hear her over the noise of the rushing masses as men continue to run towards the beach to give aid. She tries to shout his name again but he is then rushing off towards the beach as well, disappearing through the white mist.

It is then that she fully realizes how precariously close she is to falling from the edge of the wide window. She leaps back, noting Mrs. Etro's disappointed face and flees the room before the other woman can say anything else.


	13. Resero

Resero is Latin for, "to reveal".

_**Chapter Thirteen: Resero**_

For what felt like ages later and when the clock moved past the five o'clock hour of the early morning, she could wait in doors no longer to wait for Noctis and the men to come back. They have been out there all night, putting forth all their efforts to rescue as many from the doomed ship that could be saved. The bits and pieces of information that had made it to the house were not encouraging. The sea had claimed many lives and another ship in its shadowy depths, and yet, the shipwreck had most probably saved her life too. If not for the raised alarm, she might have actually jumped from that window. It was a strange thing to think upon. At the advisement of the servants, she had tried to get a little bit of sleep but it had been restless until she had given up all together. She needed to go out there and to check on Noctis. Her worry about how they had left things between them weighed heavily upon her. She could bear to be separated from him no longer. So, with a heavy coat about her shoulders, she makes her way to the shoreline, weaving through the many men still bustling about her amid the still heavy fog in search of a familiar face. Only to give a startled yelp when she runs into one that is not quite so welcome.

"Ben!" she cries, trying to compose herself enough to approach the strange man with the vacant stare. "Ben, have you seen Prince Noctis?"

Those far off eyes look nervous as they look down at her. "She's gone, ain't she?" Ben implores her. "You said so yourself."

"Who, Ben?" she asks.

He hesitates, looking fearful and she is not sure if he will answer her so she starts to move away to continue her search.

"The _other_ one!" he cries when she's a distance away.

She has no time to wonder what he means before she sees another familiar face.

"Ignis!" she calls out to his much taller figure. "Ignis, have you seen Noctis?"

"No, he hasn't gone up to the house yet?" Ignis asks quizzically.

"No, I have been waiting for him but he has not come," she responds, still looking around her in hopes of catching a glimpse of him.

"He should not be alone right now," states Ignis grimly. He pauses for a moment, seeming to decide whether or not to share with her the news that he obviously has. "The divers found another boat at the bottom… a sail boat."

"Oh no," she breathes out in dread. "Was it Rebecca's boat?"

"Yes," Ignis answers in a low voice. "Which means that it will start all over again."

"Poor Noctis," she laments. "It must have been horrible for him." No wonder he had not come back to the house.

Ignis gives her an uncertain look, noticing the dejected look that must be on her face. "I had better start making breakfast arrangements for the men," he states before moving away and leaving her to herself.

"That's a good idea," she agrees weakly. "I will just continue looking for Noctis."

Walking further along the shore through the thick fog, she continues looking about her intently and feeling so…torn. There was no other word for it. She sympathizes with how he must be feeling with that blatant reminder of the one he loved. A reminder to her that she could never compare. She loves him enough, though, to put that aside for a moment and be there to try and offer him some comfort at a time like this. That is when she spies the shack that had belonged to Rebecca. She would have missed it all together had it not been for the bright light shining from inside the windows. There was only one person that would seek shelter there and she hurries towards it.

The fragile door creaks open at her urging and she makes her way to the main room to find Noctis sitting solemnly at the furthest corner, beside the lit fireplace.

"Hello," he says in a monotonous voice by way of greeting.

"Noctis," she cries, rapidly approaching him without hesitation. "You have not had any sleep."

That he should seek shelter here, in a place he had forbidden her from even entering, makes her position in his affections all the more clear to her.

"Have you forgiven me?" she asks.

"Forgiven you?" he asks in that same hollow voice. "What have I got to forgive you for?"

"For my stupidity over the costume," she replies dejectedly.

"Oh," he says without inflection. "I had forgotten. I was angry with you, wasn't I?"

"Yes," she replies, remembering all too well how angry he had been and now this. This fresh reminder of who should really be here with him instead of her. "Noctis? Can we not start all over? I won't ask that you should love me. I won't ask for impossible things. I can be your friend or your companion. I will be happy with that."

He rises from the chair and comes towards her. Once close enough, he places his hands on her shoulders before running them over her hair and face. "You love me very much, don't you," he states, pulling her close and embracing her to him. "But it is too late for that now." He pulls away from her but she grabs onto him to prevent him from moving much further.

"No," she argues.

"Yes," he states simply. "It is all over now. The thing that I have been dreading every day and every night, has finally happened."

"Noctis what are you trying to tell me?" she asks, moving forward with him despite his turning his back to her to hide his face.

"Rebecca has won," he says in defeat. His proud head bows with his weariness. When he turns, it is only to sit heavily upon one of the other plush chairs.

She kneels in front of him and leans forward to peer into his face in an effort to remain close even when she can feel the acuteness of the distance between them.

"Her shadow has been between us this whole time, preventing us from really being together."

"What are you saying?"

"The divers found another boat in the water."

"Yes, Rebecca's boat," she says for him. "Ignis told me. How awful for you. I am so sorry, darling."

"The divers made another discovery when they broke one of the boards and looked into the cabin. They found a body in there."

"So she had not been alone? There was someone with her on that night. That's it, isn't it?"

He looks at her , seeming to brace himself for her reaction at what he is about to say. "There was no one with her. That was Rebecca's body lying there on the cabin floor."

"Oh no," she whispers. That was even worse.

"That woman that I identified, the woman that is buried in the family crypt, that was not Rebecca. That was the body of some unknown woman," he explains in that same monotonous voice. He sounds so hollow, so defeated, so unlike himself. "I identified her but I knew that it was not Rebecca. It was all a lie. I knew where Rebecca was all along. I knew she was lying there at the bottom of the sea."

"How did you know, Noctis?"

"Because… I put it there," he confesses slowly.

She does not know how to process what she has just heard him say. He had… placed her there? How could he have done such a thing? She does not understand.

"Can you look at me know and tell me that you love me?" he asks, leaning towards her, but she cannot think. She cannot wrap her mind around his confession to answer him.

She staggers back and away from him in an effort to ground herself. It feels as if her entire world has been thrown off its axis.

"You see?" he sighs in resignation, obviously misreading her confusion for rejection. "I was right." She can hear him stand again and walk towards the other wall. "It is too late."

She turns to see him gazing at the fire. "You are wrong," she insists, rushing back to him and placing her hands on his back. "I love you more than anything. Noctis, please kiss me to see."

"No," he says, with a shake of his head but he does turn to look at her. "It is no use." He reaches for her and hesitantly touches her face again.

"We can't lose each other now when we should always be together. Only this time without any secrets or shadows between us," she urges him.

"We only have a few days," he reasons. "Perhaps only a few more hours."

"Why did you never tell me before?"

"I wanted to at times but you never seemed close enough," he admits sadly.

"How could we be close when I knew you were always thinking of Rebecca?" she cries. "How could I even ask you to love me when I knew you loved Rebecca still?"

"What?" he asks abruptly. "What are you talking about?"

Unable to look at him in that moment, she hides her face in his chest. "Whenever you touched me, I knew you were constantly comparing me to Rebecca. Whenever you looked at me or whenever you spoke to me or during our afternoon walks, I knew in your head you were thinking that these were all the things that you had done with her," she admits in shame. "That is the truth, isn't it?"

"You thought I loved Rebecca?" he asks, with an edge to his voice that has her turning to face him. The hollow quality that had been in his voice vanishes. "You thought _that_?"

He looks at her in bewildered fury for a moment.

"I _hated_ her!" he growls.

Just like that, her world is thrown again. His admission shocks her to her core, leaving her in a mixture of happiness and utter confusion. He looks at her with that baffled expression still, clearly conveying that he had, had no idea that she had believed such a thing. She can see in his eyes that he has finally decided to tell her everything. Everything at last!

"I can admit that I was enchanted by her like everyone else was and when we were married I was told I was the luckiest man in the world to have caught her." He looks over at her and she can see the self disgust at himself. "She was so lovely, so accomplished, so full of charm. She had the three things that really mattered, everyone said. Beauty, brains and breeding… and I believed them, completely. So foolishly." He starts to pace now, as he relates his tale. "But I never knew a moment's happiness with her. She was incapable of love or devotion or tenderness… or decency."

"You… really did not love her?" she asks, completely overwhelmed to hear this revelation. He is the first person to say anything negatively about the woman that everyone else seemed to idolize. The reality of his feelings hits her like a violent crash.

"Do you remember where I was standing that day when we first met?" he asks and she nods. "Well, I went there on my honeymoon with Rebecca. She stood there, laughing… her brown hair blowing with the winds. It was four days after we were married and then she told me all about herself. She told me everything. Things that I will never utter to anyone else. I wanted to kill her then for her deceit and trickery. It would have been so easy. Do you remember how dangerous it was there?"

She nods, remembering vividly.

"I frightened you that day, didn't I?" he asks, his face softening as he looks at her. "I am sure you thought I was mad. Perhaps I was… or am mad. It would make sense wouldn't it? Since I had been living with the devil." His look turns to anguish before he forces himself to continue.

"'I'll make a bargain with you,' she said. 'You would look rather foolish trying to divorce me now, after four days of marriage. So I shall play the devoted wife and princess to your precious kingdom and mistress of Manderley. I can make it the biggest showplace if you like. Then people will visit us and envy us and think we were the happiest couple on the planet. What a grand joke it would be! What a triumph!'"

He takes a breath and shakes his head.

"I never should have taken her up on her filthy bargain, but I did. I was younger then and very conscious of my family's honor and public reputation. Imagine how much of a scandal it would have been if the prince divorced his wife? But what did I know about honor when my wife had none and was of the worst sort, hidden by such a lovely face? She knew that I would sacrifice anything to avoid dragging her to a public court and admit that our marriage was a fraud." He stares at her again from his place beside the window. "You despite me, don't you? As I despise myself. You cannot understand how my feelings were… can you?" he implores.

A tear rolls down her cheek in sympathy to his unimaginable plight. "Of course I can, darling. Of course I can understand."

"Well I kept up my end of the bargain," he continues, angry at himself. "And so did she. She played the charade so brilliantly. Only after awhile she began to grow careless. She took a flat in the city and would stay away for days at a time. Then she started to bring her friends _here_. I warned her about the chances of exposure at her recklessness but she just shrugged her shoulders and demanded what it had to do with me. She even started on Ignis… tried to seduce him just to see if she could. Poor, faithful Ignis." He lets out a sigh. "Then there was a cousin of hers. A man named Favell."

"Yes I know him," she says. "He came the day you went to the city."

"Why did you not tell me?" he asks in worry.

"I wanted to but… I thought that it would only remind you of… Rebecca," she explains lamely.

"Remind me?" he lets out a bitter laugh. "As if I needed any reminding."

He shakes his head at himself before he continues.

"Favell used to visit her here in this cottage," he says, looking about them disdainfully. "I found out about it and warned her that if he came here again, I would shoot them both. No decency at all," he says, walking towards the inner doorway. "Then, one night when I found out that she had returned quietly from the city, I thought that Favell was with her and I knew that I could no longer live with such filth and deceit any longer. I decided to come down here and have it out with both of them. But she was alone. She had been expecting Favell but he hadn't come. She was lying there on the divan with her large tray of cigarette stubs beside her. She looked ill, queer. Suddenly she got up and started towards me.

'When I have a child,' she said. 'Neither you nor anyone else could say that the child was not yours. You would like that wouldn't you, Noctis? An heir to your kingdom and Manderley.'

Then she started to laugh.

'How funny. How perfectly, wonderfully funny. I will be the perfect mother, just as I have been the perfect wife and no one will ever know. It ought to give you the thrill of your life, Noctis. To watch my son grow bigger day by day and know that when you die, he will be King and all this will be his.'

She was face to face with me then, one hand in her pocket and the other with a cigarette in her hand. She had a smug smile on her face.

'Well Noctis? What are you going to do about it? Aren't you going to kill me?' she goaded."

His expression falls. "I must have gone mad for a moment and slapped her. She just stood there, watching me. She looked almost triumphant. Then she started towards me again, smiling. Suddenly she stumbled and fell," he says, bumping into the door and showing her where Rebecca had fallen. "It seemed like I stood there for ages, looking down at her. She had struck her head on a heavy piece of ship's tackle. I remember wondering why she was still smiling and then, I realized that she was dead."

"But you did not kill her! It was an accident!"

"Who would believe me?" he asks. "I lost my head. I just knew that I had to do something. So I carried her out to the boat. It was very dark that night. There was no moon. I carried her to the cabin and sailed away. When I was out far enough, I took a spike and drove it into the hull over and over again. Then I opened the sea cocks and the water began to flood through fast. I climbed into the dingy and pulled away. I saw the boat keel over and sink." He lets out as if exhausted. "Then I made it back to the cove… and it started to rain."

"Noctis, who else knows about this?"

"No one. Just you and me."

"We must explain this. It has to be the body of someone else."

"No, it is easy to identify her," he says. "There are rings, bracelets… jewelry that she always wore. Then they will remember the other body already buried."

"Then you have to tell them that when you went to identify the body before that you were distraught and that you made a mistake. Surely they'll believe that. Rebecca is dead and she cannot bear witness." She rushes towards him and hold the collar of his coat to get him to listen to her. "We are the only two people that know."

He looks so forlorn and sad, but there is open affection there too. An affection for her and only her. "I told you once that I did a very selfish thing by marrying you," he reminds her. "Now you know what I meant."

He pulls her into his arms and holds her tightly to him. She feels his lips press against her hair and breathe in her scent.

"I love you," he says. "I have loved you from the first. I will _always_ love you." He pulls away just enough to take in her face. "But I have known all along that Rebecca would win in the end."

She holds his face in her hands to make him look into her eyes and shakes her head. "She has not won! No matter what happens, she has _not_ won."

The ringing of the house phone causes the both of them to freeze. They trade a look before he slowly reaches for the dusty phone.

"Yes?" he asks into the receiver. "Hello Ignis. Who? The colonel? Yes, tell him I will see him there as soon as I possibly can. What? well, we will talk about that when we are sure about the matter." He concludes his conversation with Ignis and hangs up slowly.

"What has happened?" she asks anxiously.

"The colonel called. He is the chief magistrate of the area. He has been asked by the police to go over to the mortuary. He wants to know if I had possibly made a mistake about the other body."

They look at each other and the look of accepted defeat on his face is something that she cannot abide. It was so soon, _too_ soon. It was becoming unraveled so quickly and she wishes she could take that desolated look away from his face. But no matter what she did, there is no stopping what is coming and she has no idea how it will all turn out.


	14. Re Vera

Re Vera is Latin for, "In truth".

_**Chapter Fourteen: Re Vera**_

This, is what hell is. Not a fiery place of torment, but this. This here, within this white stale room where the dead were laid out to be prepared for burial or cremation. No matter how clean and spotless everything appeared to look, it was that sterility that made this hell. The stench of death could never be removed. It clung to everything in this room. Add to that, is the ghastly sight of what used to be Rebecca lying before him on a cold metal slab to be identified drives this point further. It seemed fitting to him that the woman who had been the vainest person imaginable, would end up in such a decrepit state now. It was entirely fitting that she should lie in such a hell.

The smell of the sea and rotting flesh should have revolted him. It should have given him a measure of remorse that he still hated her so much, but he does not have it in him to be. He cannot even dredge of regret for feeling so even at the sight of her now. All he can see is her ugliness finally being revealed in the honesty of death. It was the most honest he has ever seen her. With no mask of false charm and shelled loveliness. Yet, even in death, he continues to wield such power over him. Maybe even more so now in death than she had alive. He knows that she had known and how she must have gloated in her ultimate victory. No matter what he did, she would always remain so and he finds he can hate her a little more because of it.

The small group of men gathered stare at the body, listening to the coroner tell them that the cause of death. A blow to the head as there was no water in her lungs. Any other readings were impossible given the amount of decay the body had suffered while in the waters. When the readings are concluded, the Colonel gives him a soft nudge to silently lead him out of the examination room with Ignis close behind.

"Ghastly business," the colonel says as they begin to make their way out.

"I am very sorry that I was wrong about misidentifying the other body," apologizes Noctis with a shake of his head.

"It's perfectly understandable," reasons Ignis quickly. "You weren't well at the time."

"No, I should have known," insists Noctis.

"Nobody can blame you for making a mistake, your Majesty," the Colonel says kindly. "You were obviously distraught at the time, which is completely understandable as Ignis says."

"Still," says Noctis quietly.

"It is just a shame that it has to start all over again," laments the Colonel, giving Noctis a worried look.

"What do you mean, 'start all over again'?" asks Ignis uncertainly. "It's pretty clear cut that she must have gotten stuck in the hull and hit her head when the waves got too rough."

"That is what it looks like to me too but for official purposes sake, there has to be another Coroner's inquest," says the Colonel. "Just a formality and then we can put this all to rest. I will be there to oversee the proceedings, but you will be asked to testify on the stand. I am sorry but there is no way to avoid the publicity."

"Oh, right, the publicity," says Noctis softly, though that really does not bother him like it would have before.

"Surely that isn't necessary," reasons Ignis.

"It is out of my hands," claims the Colonel. "But I wouldn't worry. When this is all over, your Majesty should come over so we can go to the range."

"That would be nice," Noctis says diplomatically, trying to dredge up some semblance of a smile.

"Oh and the Chief Sailing Master is examining the boat now. No doubt he will come to the same conclusions. So, I am sure the inquest will not be long," the Colonel says before giving them a slight bow and going on his way.

Trading a silent look with Ignis, they both get into the car and head back to Manderley without a word to reveal their feelings. Noctis has often wondered what Ignis thinks about all of this. What his friend had really thought of this sordid affair that was his life. Not that Ignis would ever say anything. He would never see it as his place to question or criticize him on his actions, or speak ill of anyone. Ignis was loyal and there were no words to express how indebted he was to his friend. A true friend in every sense of the word and he knows he does not deserve him.

Ignis was much like his wife. A kind heart, faithful and good. Thoughts of her surprised face from the night before have plagued him all day. Such innocence to be tainted. That was what makes him hate Rebecca even more. Maybe more than what she had ever done to him. Stealing something that should never have been touched by her filth.

Upon reaching the house, he wanders into the library to stand in front of the fire to gather his thoughts. The coroner's report offered no comfort to him. There would be no way to determine whether her death had been an accident or not. All they knew for sure was that Rebecca had been struck in the head. Even a prince could not get away with murder and if they even _suspected_ that he might have been responsible in any way, when the public had adored Rebecca so much, they would demand he be punished. He was not going to lie on the stand, but he was not going to let them twist his words or give information that they had no business knowing. He was still a very private person, not to mention their Prince, and would not tolerate any disrespect. He just wants this over. Not for himself, but for _her_. Wonderful, clean and pure her. The lady who had taken a chance and married a bitter and tainted man.

Then, she is there. The one he wishes could be shielded from all of this. The one he wishes he had been strong enough to let go before exposing her to the curse that is his life.

"Hello, luv," he greets, a small smile forming at the mere sight of her despite his dark thoughts. Seeing that purity of her always lightens the weight on his chest and makes him believe that there is such a thing as goodness.

She rushes towards him and naturally places herself in his waiting arms.

"I told Frank to keep the newspapers away," she says. "Those silly people will write all manner of nasty untruths and I will not let them intrude on us."

He strokes her face tenderly and lays a quick peck on her lips. "I do not mind all this," he says honestly. "I only hate and worry about what it has done to _you._"

"Me?" she asks quizzically.

"I have tainted you with the knowledge of what Rebecca was," Noctis says forlornly. "And now we have so little time left to be together."

"Noctis, I want to go with you to the Inquest tomorrow," she insists.

"I would rather you did not."

"Oh but I want to," she insists softly, leaning into him to offer and receive comfort in equal measure. "I promise I won't be any trouble."

"All right," Noctis concedes easily. He who has never known such a thing as comfort, becomes malleable in the warmth of it from her.

"I do not want to be separated for even a moment," she says and he cannot help but offer a reverent kiss on the forehead.

"If you like," he says on a sigh.

She peers up at him. "You, you will try not to lose your temper won't you? No matter what they ask you?"

"I will," he promises. Anything that would put her mind at ease.

"They can't do anything at once, can they?"

"No," he reassures, grabbing hold of her and stare intently into her upturned face. "It's gone," he mourns, deeply saddened at the loss. "That funny lost look of innocence that I loved. It's gone forever." He takes a long breath as he continues to gaze at her. "I took that away the moment I told you about Rebecca. In just a few hours, you have grown so much older."

The sorry look on his face and the needless guilt has her crying his name and kissing him. Kissing him to show him physically when words cannot seem to reach him. He clings to her as much as she clings to him and there is no way to describe how whole she feels now. How full and complete she feels now that she knows what has separated them all this time. A wholeness that he too, has never felt with anyone else before. Now they were two people who needed and counted on each other for the trials that are coming. She more sure than he, but that did not matter. So long as they were together it really did not matter.

The next day comes too soon for the both of them. Due to the wide spread publicity of the Inquest, the room where the Proceedings are held is cramped and tight. The small town hall not built to accommodate the crowds of people that had come. They huddled just outside in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Prince and Princess before listening through strained ears for any snippets of the proceedings inside. Through it all, she is a lone silent figure of tightly wound nerves but keeping on a brave face. Keeping her head held high, as she sat perfectly poised and thankful for the wide brimmed hat on her head. She is sure that even a feather could have knocked her over, she is so on edge. Noctis, who must sit a couple rows in front of her where the people who would be called to stand sat, looked as withdrawn as she has ever seen him. She knows now, that this is only a show to hide his true feelings. It makes her wish that she had the same disposition and gathers strength from his unfailing example. Of course, it did not help matters that Favell and Mrs. Etro were both in attendance. Favell with his knowing smirk and Mrs. Etro's all seeing black beady eyes. Both are watching everything steadily.

Currently on the stand, they have Ben. The poor man, who was already a pale color, looks almost white at being brought out in front of so many people. His wide eyes stare vacantly out into the gathered crowd in terror and refuses to say anything more than to beg not to be taken to the asylum. He fervently denies seeing anything multiple times. It was quickly apparent that they were not going to gain anything useful from him, so they moved on to the Sailing Master.

"Now Mr. Cobb, Sailing Master," the Investigator states. "You were able to study the vessel at length, were you not?"

"I did," is the no nonsense reply.

"Can you state for the record, from the evidence that you've gathered, that the former Princess died of an accident when her ship capsized off shore?"

"No, I cannot state such a thing."

Gasps of surprise erupt and then a chorus of murmurs fill the room at the brisk statement. Her heart feels about to burst from what else would come to light right now and she forces herself to take a long breath to steady her trembling body. From the stunned look on the Investigator's face, he too had not expected that reply. It takes him a moment to lean in towards the Colonel to ask a private query before asking the Sailing Master to explain.

"Are you saying that she might have committed suicide?"

"No, I cannot say that for certain either, but when I was investigating the ship, I noticed the sea cocks had been opened."

"And what are those?"

"Those are the valves that open at the bottom in order to drain the boat," explains Mr. Cobb. "They are always locked tight when the boat is afloat and are never opened during that time." The Sailing Master pauses in thought for a moment. "Then there are those holes."

"What holes?"

"It looked like someone had drilled holes into the hull."

"Could those holes have been created after the fact?"

"They could have, but they were made from the _inside_ of the boat, not out."

More murmurs carry around the room.

"So what you are basically saying is that the boat sank intentionally," clarifies the Investigator.

"All I can say that is that with her knowledge of boats, this was not an accident."

"Thank you, Mr. Cobb. You have been very helpful," states the Investigator while everyone whispers to each other.

The Sailing Master gives a small bow to Noctis with a sympathetic look, before stepping down from the stand.

"Now we would kindly ask his Majesty, Prince Caelum to take the stand, please," the Investigator asks with a bow towards Noctis. "My Lord, if you would."

Noctis rises from his seat and calmly walks over to take the stand.

"I am very sorry to have to drag your Majesty through these proceedings again," apologizes the Investigator.

"You must do what you must," replies Noctis without inflection, but she can see the tension radiating off of him.

"Can you think of any reason why there should be holes in the planking of the former Princess' boat?"

"No, of course I cannot think of any reason."

"Had anyone discussed these findings with you before?"

"Seeing as the boat has been at the bottom of the ocean all this time, I scarcely believe anyone would," comments Noctis dryly.

A few people snicker, though it was not meant to be a joke. His statement, started casually, is actually full of warning and edge. One who did not know him well enough would not see that he was on a fine edge. The subtle stiffness in his shoulders give testament that he was close to losing his temper. A detail overlooked by the man asking the questions. In turn, she feels just as on edge as her husband and ready to faint dead away.

"I want you to know, your Majesty, that we all feel very deeply for you in this matter, but you must remember that I do not conduct this inquest for my own amusement," announces the Investigator bristled by Noctis' statement.

"That is rather obvious," is Noctis' response.

"I hope it is," says the Inquisitor, looking affronted. "Now, since the Princess Caelum went sailing that night alone, are we to believe that she drove those holes herself?"

"You may _believe_ what you like," snaps Noctis. His anger leaking into his voice steadily.

"Can you enlighten us as to why the Princess would want to end her own life?"

"I know of no reason at all," states Noctis with growing agitation.

"Prince Noctis, no matter how painful it may be, I have to ask you a very personal question," the Inquisitor says rapidly. "Were relations between you and the late Princess, perfectly happy?"

What a question to ask! Noctis is fairly trembling now in barely suppressed anger. He visibly struggles within himself. Bound by honor to answer the question faithfully and also condemning himself in the same instant.

"I repeat," the Inquisitor states very pointedly. "Were _relations_ between you and the late Princess perfectly happy?"

"I won't stand here and have you bait me and you might as well….," his words are cut off as he sees her crumble to the floor in a dead faint.

A commotion rises in the courtroom at her tumble and Noctis rushes over to her aid.

"We will adjourn after lunch," announces the Inquisitor, checking the time. "I trust your Majesty will resume the stand then."

"Of course," Noctis says absently, clutching her worriedly. "I told you not to skip breakfast. You are hungry. That is what is the matter with you." His voice is a gentle chide and loud enough to be heard for the benefit of the ears closest around them. He manages a small smile before he quickly leads her outside into the fresh air.

The sea air feels good to her lungs, making her sigh in thankful relief from the stifling air inside that small room. The crowd disperses around them, all heading to their own respective lunches. The gathered group of reporters are held back by the guards, while they walk the short distance to the limo that is waiting to grant them some privacy. Security is on high alert and the guards make sure no one disturbs them.

"I am sorry, darling," she apologizes. "That was terribly foolish of me, fainting like that."

"Nonsense," he reassures with a low chuckle. "If you had not fainted I might have _really_ lost my temper."

"Please be careful, Noctis," she pleads.

He smiles down at her while offering his body as a solid thing to keep her upright. Once they reach the car, he fuses over her and makes sure she is comfortable. He pours her a glass of something strong from their packed picnic basket from the house to revive her before looking at her intently.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

"Yes, I am fine luv, do not worry over me," she replies with a smile.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "I need to go and find Ignis."

"Go on. Do not worry over me," she says, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm.

The tender affection that leaks into his eyes warms her through.

"I will not be long," he promises and then disappears to find Ignis.

She takes a small sip of her drink and almost succumbs to a fit of coughs when the strong alcohol flows like liquid fire down her throat. She shudders at the sensation.

"Hello," greets a familiar cocky voice.

Favell stands peering at her from the other side of the limo. It races through her mind how he was able to get past the guards but she beings to speak before she can ask.

"The guards let me through when they realized I was _family_," his tone full of irony. "And how does the bride find herself today?" he asks, opening the door without asking permission and leans towards her. "I say, being married to Noct isn't exactly a bed of roses, is it?"

"I think you had better go before Noctis comes back," she warns instead of answering.

"Jealous is he?" Favell taunts, not at all worried in the least about being seen by Noctis. "I can't say that I blame him. But you don't think I'm the villain do you? I am a perfectly ordinary, harmless bloke... and I think you're behaving splendidly through all this." He cocks his head to study her for a moment. "You know, you've grown up since the last time I saw you."

"What do you want, Favell?" demands Noctis, rushing in from the opposite side of the car.

"Oh hello, Noct," greets Favell easily. "I see everything is looking rather well for you, isn't it? You know I was worried about you once I heard about all this. It's why I came all the way out here."

"I am sure I am very touched, but my wife and I are about to have our lunch," states Noctis dryly.

"Lunch!" perks up Favell. "What a lovely idea!" He climbs into the cabin to sit opposite the both of them with a challenging look on his face. A purposely haughty expression in an obvious ploy to bait Noctis into reacting. "Rather like a picnic." He makes himself completely at home by lounging in the seat and even as the gall to order their drive to have his car filled with petrol while unwrapping a chicken leg from the basket. "You know, Noct, I believe someone is going to use the old fashioned term, 'Foul play' before the day is out."

"What do you mean?" asks Noctis suspiciously.

"Those holes in the planking, for example," explains Favell, biting into the chicken. "Those holes that were drilled from the _inside_." He pauses a moment to give Noctis a sly look while savoring the flavor of the chicken. "Am I boring you with this? Well," he reaches into his breast pocket to show them a card. "I have a note here from Rebecca. What's more is that she even had the foresight to write the date."

"What makes you think that note would interest me?" demands Noctis in a collected tone.

"I would think it would. You see, I was at a party that night that she died and so I didn't get her note until the next morning." He takes another bite of chicken. "And I can tell you that it is not the note of a woman who plans on drowning herself that same night."

He finishes up his chicken leg and gently waves it in front of them.

"What do you do with old bones?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. "You throw them away, don't you?" He makes a show of chucking the bone out the window and then wiping his hands delicately with a linen napkin. "You know Noct, I'm awfully tired of being a luxury car salesman. Of being that guy who drives a car that isn't his own and watching guys like you, who don't work for anything you own, drive away in them. I think I'd like to live a comfortable life somewhere in the country and enjoy myself. Nothing as grand as old Manderely by any means, but a nice sized place that would suit me just fine. I'm not sure how much it would take for me to live like that, but I'd like to talk it over with you."

He gives Noctis a malicious look that makes his intent to blackmail clear.

Noctis meets the smug grin steadily with no discernible expression on his face. His usual air of indifference in place, but the anger is more in control this time. The mood in the car is rife with tension when Ignis throws open the door.

"Favell," Ignis states with no little amount of distaste in his tone and expression, before he turns to Noctis. "You needed to see me, Noctis?"

"Yes," Noctis replies, though his eyes do not leave Favell's. "It seems Favell and I need to conduct a business transaction." They both continue to stare at each other steadily as he speaks. "And I do not think that we should have it inside the car."

"What a great idea!" cries Favell with a wide grin.

"The pub should have a private room," suggests Noctis.

Favell eagerly exits their car and makes his way towards it while Noctis leans in to whisper to Ignis.

"Get the Colonel and meets us there."

"Yes, Noctis," replies Ignis before quickly making his way.

Noctis takes hold of her hand to keep her firmly at his side as they follow along behind Favell to the pub. He asks her if she is sure she wants to be around all this. When she responds with a stubborn set of her chin, he relents with a soft smile before turning to the owner of the pub and asking for a private room for them. The bustling man seems honored to have them in his establishment and quickly ushers them toward the back where they can be by themselves. Favell makes a show of ordering their most expensive whiskey while smirking in Noctis' direction.

"I feel like I can suddenly afford to splurge," Favell says smugly.

Ignis arrives just then, with the Colonel close behind.

"Ah, I am glad that you could join us so quickly," Noctis greets the Colonel with a smile.

"Oh I know the Colonel," Favell says uneasily.

"Then you also know that the Colonel is the head of the police around here," Noctis points out smoothly. "Now why don't you tell him what you were telling me."

"Favell," the Colonel says with the same amount of distaste as Ignis had shown earlier.

"I asked you here, Colonel, because Favell here just presented a vital piece of evidence that he offered to withhold if I made it worth his while," Noctis states calmly.

"I did no such thing!" denies Favell. "I was just suggesting that I would like to retire to the country."

"At my expense," inserts Noctis with a level look. "Why don't you show the Colonel here what you were waving at me earlier?"

"What have you got Favell?" demands the Colonel cooly.

"I was merely trying to put together the pieces from today's revelations at the inquest regarding Rebecca's death. More precisely that she committed suicide and I have something here that would throw that out of court," explains Favell.

"Well then, what does the note say?" demands the Colonel.

Favell takes the thick card stock out of his breast pocket and hands it gingerly to the Colonel.

"Why don' t you read it, Colonel?" Favell offers.

"My darling Jack, I have just been to the doctor and I am rushing on towards Manderley. I'll be at the cottage tonight and will leave the door open for you. I have something terribly important to tell you. Rebecca," read the Colonel aloud.

"Now does that sound like the note of a woman who planned to kill herself?" asks Favell. "Especially by going through all the trouble of driving holes into planks and drowning herself. Colonel, as an officer of the law, don't you think that those are grounds of suspicion?"

"Of murder?" asks the Colonel in disbelief.

"What else? You've known Noctis a long time, haven't you?" insinuates Favell knowingly. "You know that he's the old fashioned type. One that would _die_ to defend his honor. Or who would _kill_ for it."

"That's black mail," accuses Ignis.

"Black mail brings a lot of trouble to a lot of people," states the Colonel, looking at Favell disapprovingly. "And most times it is the _blackmailer_ that ends up in a lot more trouble and most likely in jail."

"Oh, I see," says Favell with a glare. "You're going to dismiss the facts to stand by the murderer there just because he holds a title and he gives you the honor of being in his company."

"I would be very careful if I were you, Favell," warns the Colonel. "You've just brought up a very serious accusation of murder. Have you any witnesses?"

"I do," insists Favell. "That halfwit, Ben. If the Inquisitor wasn't so dismissive, he would have known that Ben was lying."

"Lying about what?"

"We caught him once, looking through the window at us while Rebecca and I were together," explains Favelll. "Rebecca threatened him. That if he told anyone what he saw she would send him to the asylum. That was probably why he was afraid to speak. But he was always hanging around. I'm sure he saw the whole thing!"

"It's ridiculous just listening to you," says Ignis with a roll of his eyes.

"If I'm not wrong there, _Ignis_, there is a hint of menace in you towards me, isn't there?" Favell asks with a belligerent smirk. "He didn't have any luck with Rebecca... but he might have better luck _this_ time." He eyes her and then looks pointedly at Ignis. "I'm sure the bride will be eternally grateful for more than your arm... in a week or so."

That being the last straw, Noctis punches Favelll squarely in the jaw, bursting the other man's lip.

"Noctis please!" she cries, with the shouts of the other two men in the room.

It takes the both of them to hold Noctis back from landing another blow.

Favell wipes his jaw and makes sure to put considerable distance between him and Noctis before daring to speak again.

"That temper will get the better of you yet, Noctis," warns Favell, when there is a knock at the door.

The bartender brings along their whiskey and Favell takes a hard swig of the harsh liquor.

"Can I bring you anything else?" asks the bartender.

"Yes," answers Favell, pouring himself another drink. "You might want to bring the Prince a sedative."

"We won't be needing anything else," replies the Colonel, urging the man to take his leave. He makes sure Noctis will stay on his own side before walking towards the middle of the room. When the door closes again, he turns to Favell. "Now let's just get this business over with. Since you've brought all this up, you should also provide us with a motive."

"Ah, yes!" cries Favell. "And I can! Now if you'll just wait a moment, I can provide that too." He pushes his way towards the door and leaves them.

"I wish you would go home," Noctis says gently, rushing to her. "You should not be here to see all this."

"Please let me stay with you, Noctis," she pleads, placing herself in his arms.

He holds her to him comfortingly before guiding her to sit in one of the chairs.

"Colonel, surely you're not going to actually listen to what Favell has to say," argues Ignis.

"I'm just as suspicious of Favell as you are, Ignis," reassures the Colonel. "But it is my job to make sure that we consider all avenues before we lay this all to rest."

"I agree entirely, Colonel," Favell says with a grin as he reenters the room. "With something so serious as this, we must be sure to cover over every point, explore every avenue. Ah, here she is." He motions to the entering Mrs. Etro. "Etty, I believe you know everyone the room already."

"Mrs. Etro...," begins the Colonel.

"Now, I think I should be the one to handle this, Colonel," Favell states. "I'm the only one that will be able to handle this witness."

He makes a show of leaning towards Mrs. Etro in a familiar fashion.

"Now, Etty, who was Rebecca's doctor?"

"The royal family has a physician that visits regularly..."

"No, not that doctor, Etty," interrupts Favell. "The one Rebecca saw in the city."

"I don't know what you mean," is the stiff reply.

"Don't give me that, Etty," Favell says with a shake of his head. "You knew _everything_ about Rebecca. You also knew that Rebecca was in love with me," he gloats. "You knew of all those splendid times that we had in that little cottage over there by the beach."

Mrs. Etro looks at Favell critically. "She had a right to amuse herself, didn't she?" Mrs. Etro demanded. "Love was a game to her. Only a game. The way she used to laugh. She used to double over with laughter at the lot of you." She tosses her head towards the three younger men in the room.

"Can you think of any reason for the former Princess to take her own life?" the Colonel asks gently.

"No, I won't believe it. I knew _everything_ about her and I _refuse_ to believe it," Mrs. Etro denies with tears forming in her eyes.

"See!" insists Favell. "It's impossible and she knows it as well as I do." He turns to Mrs. Etro. "Now, listen to me Etty. We knew the day Rebecca died, she went to the doctor, didn't she?"

"No," Mrs. Etro says with a sniff.

"I know you're trying to protect Rebecca, but you must see that I'm trying to do the same thing. I'm trying to prove that she wouldn't kill herself," insists Favell. "We're talking about the fact that Rebecca was murdered."

Mrs. Etro looks at Favell in sharp surprise.

"Not only was she murdered, her murderer was Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum," accuses Favell, gesturing towards Noctis with a grand flourish.

Mrs. Etro gapes at Noctis in complete shock. Her pale face waits in almost hopeful expectation for him to deny it. Hatred slowly seeps into her eyes when he remains silent against the accusation.

"There was a doctor," Mrs. Etro admits. "The Princess sometimes went to him privately. She had been going to him even since before she was married."

"We're not interested in reminisces here, Etty," Favells says impatiently. "What was his name?"

Mrs. Etro's black eyes glare at Noctis for a few moments before she not only gives the name of a Dr. Baker but his address as well.

"There is your motive, Colonel," Favell gloats confidently. "Go and question Dr. Baker. He will tell you that Rebecca was going to have a child. A lovely curly haired child."

"That _isn't_ true," insists Mrs. Etro. "She would have told me."

"Maybe she didn't get the chance," suggest Favell. "She told Noctis about it and being the old school fellow that he is, knowing that the child was definitely not his, he killed her to save face!"

The accusing look in Mrs. Etro eyes is unnerving and almost maniacal in their intensity. It makes one shudder.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to question this, Dr. Baker," says the Colonel.

"Yes! I think that is a splendid idea," concurs Favell. "For safety's sake I think I'd like to come along too."

"Yes, unfortunately I believe you have the right to come along," concedes the Colonel, gathering his hat and heading towards the door. "I'll have the Inquest put on hold pending further evidence."

"I say, Colonel, aren't you afraid that your prime suspect might try to escape?" suggests Favell, giving Noctis a snide look.

The Colonel gives him an impatient look. "You have _my_ word that he will not do that," he vouches.

"Toodaloo there Noct," Favell says flippantly, making his way towards the door behind the Colonel. "Let's go Etty. We should give the couple their last few precious moments alone."

He gives them one last smirk before walking out the door. Mrs. Etro is not quick to follow. She watches them evenily behind her black eyes, with condemnation in their depths, before slowly walking out the door herself.

No words can be spoken. Only the reassurances of touch. He embraces her and she embraces him. All the love she feels, she places in the kiss she gives him while savoring the feeling of being in his arms. When they part, Noctis offers her a small smile before he places a strong arm around her and leads her out towards the car. Ignis discreetly keeps watch for any stray reporters and follows along behind them. She walks with Noctis, arm in arm, to the car and he makes sure to help her inside.

"You take the car home, luv," Noctis says once she's climbed in. "I will go with Ignis in the other car."

"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?" she offers.

"No, it would be too tiring for you," he replies. "I will be back as soon as I can tonight. I will not even stop to sleep."

His gentle assurances warm her heart and she finds herself falling a little more in love with him for it.

"I will be waiting for you. No matter how late," she promises, giving him one last kiss before climbing into the car.

Making sure to close the door gently behind her, he taps on to it to signal the driver that she is ready. His eyes never leave her face as the car starts to move away and he blows her one last kiss in parting. He hates that he cannot even offer her any promises that all will be well because he does not know. More than likely this trip would convict him. With a heavy sigh, he turns to Ignis and makes his way to the other car for the long drive into the city.

A couple hours later sees them in a dingy doctor's office in the middle of a seedy part of Nihilsomno and he wonders how someone like Rebecca could venture to such a place by herself and not draw a lot of attention. How had she been able to come and go from such a place without it being reported to someone? Perhaps it was because of its underworld feel that it had been safe for her. There was no telling what things Rebecca came to see this doctor for and he refuses to allow himself to wonder too hard. He already knew more than he wanted of that woman. Meanwhile he, Ignis, the Colonel and Favell all gather in that small, dank office to question the doctor.

"I know you must realize the man that we're here with," starts the Colonel, gesturing towards Noctis.

"Your Majesty," Dr. Baker bids with a respectful bow. "My wife was reading about it in this morning's paper. My sincere condolences…"

"Oh this going to take forever at this rate," complains Favell impatiently. "Let's just get down to the point shall we?"

"Put yourself together. I will handle the questioning here," orders the Colonel sternly before looking towards Dr. Baker. "We are here investigating the death of the Princess."

"The Princess?" asks Dr. Baker in surprise. "Why would you think to come here for that?"

"We are assuming that she came to you under a false identity," explains the Colonel.

"When would she have come to see me?" asks Dr. Baker in disbelief.

"The 13th of last April," states the Colonel.

"I have my ledger here," Dr. Baker says, rising from his chair and walking towards his computer. He takes a moment to click on a few items before pulling it up. "No, I don't have any Mrs. Caelum here."

"Could you read off the lists of people you did see?" asks the Colonel.

"I have a Smith, Peters, Johnson, Etro…"

"Etty?" shouts Favell, bending down beside the doctor to have a look at the screen.

"Yes, I had a patient named Mrs. Etro," states the Doctor in genuine bafflement as to the reaction of the other men in the room.

"What did she look like?" asks Favell.

"Let's see…," Dr. Baker thinks to himself. "Oh I remember her. She always concealed her face, but I could tell that she must be a very beautiful woman. I remember she was always exquisitely dressed."

"That sounds like Rebecca," states Favell.

"So you're saying that she came to me with a false name?" asks the doctor, looking as if something suddenly made sense in his mind. "That's a surprise. I had known her a long time."

"Doctor, can you think of a reason why the woman that you remember would commit suicide?" asks Ignis.

"Murdered you mean!" cries Favell angrily. "Come on doctor! She was going to have a child wasn't she? Why else would a woman of her class come to a dumpy place like this?"

"I trust it is all right to speak?" asks the doctor uneasily. "I do have client/patient confidentiality to worry about."

"I assure you, we would not be here unless it was absolutely necessary," says the Colonel.

The doctor looks at each of them in turn. "If you want to know if I can give you a reason for her suicide?" he pauses for a moment. "Yes, I believe I can."

"What?" balks Favell.

"The woman who called herself Mrs. Etro was very seriously ill."

"She was not going to have a child?" asks Noctis through a choked throat.

"That's what she thought at first and was why she came to see me," explains Dr. Baker. He clicks on a few more items and pulls up the file. "I quickly surmised that she was not and had her see a specialist. Her appointment that day was to get the results of the tests." He swivels in his chair to look at all of them. "She had a very advanced case of cancer. It was too late for any treatment, nothing that could be done for her. I remember she was standing right there and told me that she didn't want any of it sugar coated. That if she was for it, to just come out and tell her. I knew she wasn't someone who beat around the bush so I let her have it all." He shakes his head. "I do remember something odd that she said. When I told her that she had at least six months she said, 'Oh no doctor. Not that long'. A queer smile on her face. I never saw her after that so I assumed…" He cuts himself off and looks at Noctis with a kind smile. "Your wife was a wonderful woman, your Majesty. I am very sorry for your loss."

Noctis cannot speak in response to that. If the doctor only knew what kind of wife, what kind of _woman_ she had been, he would not think to say such things. Even in death, the woman left everyone completely enamored by her.

"Thank you very much for your help, Doctor Baker," says the Colonel and they all stand to leave. "I am going to need a copy of those files so we can officially lay this all to rest."

"I am very glad I could help with anything for the royal family," says the Doctor.

He does not pay much more attention after that. All he can feel is a supreme sense of relief that it was finally over. _Finally._ All this time agonizing about what would happen to him once they found Rebecca's body. All those nights restlessly pacing the floors and wondering when the gauntlet would fall. They were over. It was all in the past and no one could think he was at fault. He does not know what to say. He cannot express how grateful he is that he would not be blamed.

They all walk back outside towards their cars in various states of shock and surprise. Ignis asks the Colonel whether it would be necessary to continue on with the inquest. Which the Colonel reassures will not be necessary in light of this new evidence. It seemed too clear to him that there was no further reason to trouble anyone with questioning on the matter. It was all so very clear now.

"Is it chilly here? Or is it just me?" shivers Favell from beside them. "I need a drink! I had not idea. I'm sure Etty didn't know either."

The cad looks so visibly shake by the revelation that he could almost feel sorry for him.

Almost, but not really.

"How about I take you back, Colonel," Favell offers.

"I'm staying in town tonight and will head back tomorrow morning," the Colonel says with a frown. "Let this be a lesson to you, Favell, that blackmail is never the answer."

"I have no idea what you mean," Favell says flippantly. "But if you ever need a car, you come on over to me and I'll cut you a great deal." The flamboyant man beats a hasty retreat towards his car with his mobile to his ear.

An uneasy shiver runs through Noctis, realizing that he must be calling Mrs. Etro with the news. There was no one else that man would have to call.

"I'm sorry to have to drag you through all this needlessly, Your Majesty," apologizes the Colonel. "Now you can finally put this all behind you for good. You should rush off to your wife. I'm sure she's beside herself with worry."

"Yes, I will do just that, thank you Colonel," he replies with a grateful smile.

The Colonel tips his hat and bids Ignis a farewell too before he goes his way and calls a cab. Alone with his good friend, they trades a look and Noctis allows a sigh of relief. Only to have that relief replaced with the feeling that something is still wrong. Looking at Ignis, he feels he needs to clear the air.

"There is something that I have to tell you, Ignis. Something you do not know," Noctis says.

Ignis shakes his head. "No, there isn't anything I don't know, Noct."

"I did not kill her, Ignis," Noctis says bluntly and sees the surprise in Ignis' eyes. So Ignis _had_ believed he had killed Rebecca and had _still_ been at his side all this time. The other man's constant loyalty through everything is most humbling. "But I know now that when she told me about the child, she wanted me to kill her. That is why she stood there laughing…" He says weakly, unable to continue.

"Don't worry about it anymore," says Ignis with a smile and pat on the shoulder. "It's over now."

"Yes," he agrees. "It really is over."

"Come on," Ignis says, motioning for him to get into the driver's seat. "Let's hurry back to Manderley."

That sounded like the best idea because his anxiety grows again at the mention of his home. He feels an overwhelming urge to hurry back.

While he manages to call the house and let his wife know that all was well, he still feels that same sense of urgency to rush back to her. The night is dark and the car is going as fast as he can drive it without getting into any accidents, but the uneasiness does not abate. It only grows with each mile that is eaten up.

"When you phoned earlier, what did she say?" asks Ignis to take away some of the tension.

"I told her to go to sleep but she would not hear of it," Noctis replies, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "I wish I could get more speed out of this thing."

"What's worrying you, Noct?"

"I just cannot get over the feeling that something is wrong," he replies, trying to push the car even faster.

An hour goes by and they are just entering the property when he screeches to a halt at what he sees over the tops of the tall trees.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Ignis asks, shaken awake by the abrupt stop.

"What does that look like to you?" Noctis asks, staring at the glow from over the treetops.

"Er, sometimes in winter you can see the Northern Lights," states Ignis.

"Those are _not _the Northern Lights," he cries, stepping harshly onto the accelerator. "That is Manderley!"

He roars through the lane at break neck speed to come to another screeching halt at the sight of his home on fire. The entire structure is alight in waves of fire while the servants, still in their sleeping clothes, are trying to salvage as much as they can from the scorching flames. He jumps out of the car without bothering to shut off the engine and rushes over to Frank.

"Frank! Frank, have you seen the Princess!" he shouts over the rush of servants and cracking fire.

"I…," the kindly older butler looks so lost and disoriented. "I thought I saw her, your Majesty."

He does not wait before he takes off at a run, weaving through panicked people in search of her.

"Noctis!" he hears over all the noise.

Noctis whirls around at the sound of his name in her voice and crashes into her, crushes her into his arms. "Are you all right?" he asks, pulling back to look her over.

Casper is at her feet faithfully and he feels like he can finally breathe again.

"Noctis, Mrs. Etro. She's mad!" she cries, staring at the open flames in anguish. "She said she would rather _destroy_ Manderley than see us happy here." She buries her face in his chest and he pulls her even tighter against him.

"Over there! In the West Wing!" someone cries and they all turn to stare at the lone, black figure that stands inside Rebecca's room.

Mrs. Etro stands there, stoically, as the flames devour the entire room around her. Her stance looks triumphant and even from this distance, Noctis can see the crazed look in her eyes. A fanatical look that said that she thought she had won by destroying the house that had housed her and Rebecca. That she had destroyed the house that would only have Rebecca as its mistress. He can almost see her smiling at them, much like Rebecca had in death, until a large beam falls from the ceiling and crushes her underneath its massive weight.


	15. Epilogue: Compleo

Compleo is Latin for, "to finish/complete".

_**Epilogue: Compleo**_

The image of Mrs. Etro being crushed under the weight of the West Wing's massive roof, will forever be emblazoned in her mind. It will always amaze her how deeply distorted, devotion could become. What had no doubt begun as admiration had so easily become an obsession that had cost the foreboding woman her life. She can find it in her to pity the woman that had made her life at Manderley so miserable and lonely because of it. Mrs. Etro had been so blinded by her fixation on Rebecca that she had idolized the other woman beyond any logic. She had pivoted Rebecca to such absolute perfection that nothing could ever be equal. For there was no equal to the vision that the older woman had pictured in her mind's eye. She cannot even remotely understand that level of adoration. What a twisted relationship to be entwined in.

The rest of the servants talked of nothing else for several months afterwards, though they were careful not to say anything in front of her or Noctis. She knew, of course, because she would occasionally overhear them tsking away at the lunacy of Mrs. Etro's last actions. They had all carried secrets of their late mistress and it was only after the death of Mrs. Etro, that she found out how the other servants in the house had really viewed Rebecca. Their devotion to Noctis then was apparent. None of them dared to bring up any of the follies of Rebecca to him out of respect, when they had all known how deceitful Rebecca had been. Then, after more months had carried on, there were not many servants left to hear such gossip from. With Manderley in ruins, there was no need to keep a full staff on hand. It slowly reduced to a skeleton crew with a grounds keeper to make sure that the property did not become wild. Noctis soon moved them into the city and into the main residence of the royal family. Noctis did not want her around any more of those awful memories and they have been here within the Nihilsomno castle ever since.

When she looks back on those bizarre days of her life, she is thankful. No matter that those days were filled with fearful uncertainty. With Noctis' emotional distance most times and Mrs. Etro's blatant disdain, she cannot blame herself for being so afraid of her own shadow while there. Now that she knows the entire circumstance, she feels awful about doubting Noctis' feelings for her. She had thought.. well, she has always known that she was not who he ought to have chosen to marry and still had no idea why he did. Just that by some miracle, he _does_ loves her. She can only be glad that he does. Because she loves him. It would not have mattered had he really murdered Rebecca, her feelings wouldn't have changed. That he had not and been forced into an impossible situation because of a demented woman's schemes, made her admiration grow at his dignity and his grace.

It is only now that she is older that she can appreciate just how affectionate her husband has always been, even in those dark days. It had not struck her until after he had told her everything, just how much he had always shown that he always loved her. She had settled on him merely liking her very much, but she should have known better. Those natural displays of affection from him had always been there and plentiful. Something that must have been severely lacking in Noctis' first marriage. Even at the height of her uncertainty and unease, Noctis had always been her constant source of happiness. His black moods aside, he had never been cruel to her and always indulging in her wishes. There had seldom been a moment when he did not embrace her or touch her in some way whenever they were together. Much like he still does. It makes her feel a fool when she thinks of how easily she had overlooked such a major detail. A part of her is saddened to know that, his relationship with Rebecca had never been full of shares smiles or gentle hand holding or comforting embraces. The exact opposite of their own marriage... to think that all that time, she had thought he was missing Rebecca when it was always there for her to see.

Sometimes, in her dreams, she returns to Manderley. Like a spirit, she floats beyond the iron wrought entry gates and flies above the twists and turns that made up their drive until she catches sight of the house. It did not matter that the majority of it had burned away and it was just a blackened shell to the glory it had been before, nothing could mar the perfect symmetry of those walls. Walls that had survived the flames that had wanted to consume them. In these nightly visits, sometimes the clouds cast strange lights over the house and she could swear she could see someone with a lamp, walking about the insides the house. Her heart would freeze in expectation of seeing the dark silhouette of Mrs. Etro roving about those halls. Then, the light from the moon shines brightly again and the illusion melts away into the night.

For in dreams, are the only way that she can return to Manderley. Noctis does not think it wise enough of an investment to rebuild it to its former splendor. Not when the house brings to his mind so many dark memories. He told her once, when she had suggested rebuilding it, that he did not want to taint her any further with the haunting memory of Rebecca and Mrs. Etro. They had been between them long enough and he would not allow them a chance to again. Regardless of how strange and isolating as her times at Manderley had been, she mourns the loss of that beautiful house. It had been a house full of history and priceless treasures and now it was gone. It was destroyed because of two vindictive women. Both selfish in their own way. Neither one realizing who was really the one to lose the most out of all of this. Noctis.

While their life after the events at Manderley was more free and less shrouded in darkness, she often misses the long walks on the beach and the vast gardens there. She misses the quite life and the slower pace of the countryside. But, they can never go back to Manderley again. That much was certain. She will always think back on that house as the start of her new life and no matter how bleak many of the memories were, the end result was well worth the trouble. Because they can live the rest of their lives together and that was really all that mattered in the end.

El fin.

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><p>I would like to thank everyone who has been following this story. If it wasn't for your support, I don't think I would have been able to get enough motivation to finish. So, thank you! ^_^<p> 


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